Ripple Effects
by lulu-ny
Summary: The road to hell is paved with good intentions, so Ana has learned. When a generous favor she did for a friend comes back to bite her years later, she's forced into a no-win situation. What happens next is life-altering. What Ana doesn't know yet is if it's good or bad—she just knows she'll never be the same again.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I know I have no business starting another story when I'm still writing two others but I'm going to give this one a go to get it out of my head. The first chapter introduces the story. Things heat up in the second chapter that will come soon if you guys show me enough love. :D

Chapter 1

Please don't hate me.

That's how I started the letter to my best friend, explaining my situation. If all goes well, she'll never see it but the letter is my insurance that if anything bad happens to me tonight, someone will know where to look for answers.

Scanning the skies through the dirty windshield, I say a quick prayer that the rain will hold off until I get to the tony estate where the party is being held. Judging from the last exit I passed on the highway, I should easily be there by seven o'clock, the time I've been instructed to arrive by the woman who hired me. The thing that has me worried now is that the convertible top on my Mini Cooper is stuck in the open position and if it rains, as it tends to do in Seattle… well, I definitely won't look the part I'm being paid to play tonight. It's hard enough, I think ruefully, for me to pull it off if everything goes well. Ah. I shake my head, disillusioned by my current circumstances. No one who knows me well would believe the mess I've made of my life in very short order.

In three months I'll be twenty-two, and last month I finally was graduated, summa cum laude, from UDub with a Bachelor's degree. I had a twin major of English and digital arts, hoping to have a career as a writer or editor, but allowing myself the backup of computer arts, a much more sensible choice in today's technology-driven world.

Though my family and old friends are all back in Ohio where I grew up, I have two best friends here in Seattle: Kate Kavanagh and Jose Rodriguez, both of whom attended college with me. Jose has another year before he finishes, but Kate and I are finally done. Not that Kate really needs her degree: her family is exceedingly wealthy and she has a guaranteed job at either her mother's or father's company—the choice is hers. Still, she swears she'll go on to get her Master's degree.

My fingers grip the steering wheel to the point of pain as my next thought flits through my brain: Kate would kill me if she knew what I was doing tonight… but, then again, she doesn't know my secret and how I felt backed into a corner. I consider myself a moral person and there are lines I won't cross but tonight I'll get so damn close to a big one…

_but I have no choice_: the pay is fantastic and I'm in desperate need of that and a lot more. So I'll do it. Getting my mind in the game ahead of me is going to require intense focus but the more I try, the more my thoughts go back to the events of the past month. Nearly four weeks ago, right after graduation, my biggest secret ever came back to bite me squarely in the ass, and all of my careful plans for my life were about to scatter to the four winds. If it weren't for my co-worker Martine, I might have given up then and there. Fortuitously, Martine offered me a way out.

Commencement was held on a Friday evening and afterward Kate's parents took everyone out for dinner at Dashiell's, one of the most sought-after and expensive restaurants in Seattle. Our party consisted of Kate's parents, brother, and her brother's girlfriend Buffy… or was it Jiffy… or something like that. Those WASPy nicknames all sound the same to me. My parents were also invited but right before they left Ohio, my younger sister was in a car accident and they were forced to cancel. Malia is okay but she broke her arm and fractured her jaw so she needs my mom around. It was hard not to have anyone there to watch me walk. What I didn't know until after the ceremony, was that my favorite relative, my Uncle Tony—the black sheep of the Steele family—was in the audience, and he ended up coming to dinner with us. It had to be one of my favorite nights of my life, with relief and joy vigorously vying for top honors.

When we first walked into the restaurant, the maître 'd led us to the rear where the best tables were located. At the table immediately before ours, tucked into the bay of a large picture window that overlooked all of Seattle, was the most gorgeous man I'd ever set eyes on. I mean, drool-gorgeous. He was dining with a blonde who looked suspiciously like a Victoria's Secret model, much to my disappointment. Yeah, right, as if I'd ever have a chance with a guy like that anyway.

But as I walked by, his eyes happened to swivel my way just as I passed and he gave me this seriously intense look. Immediately I thought—was there something wrong with me? Maybe I had a wardrobe malfunction? Or my hair had frizzed up to epic proportions making me look insane? Ever so casually my hand slinked up to my head and adjusted my hair. Nope, it felt sleek and soft. Why would he look at me like that when he had the visual delight of hot-lingerie-model in front of him?

After we were seated, Kate leaned over to whisper in my ear. "Do you know who that was who was just ogling you?"

"No. And he wasn't ogling me, Kate. Did you see the gorgeous girl he's with? Who is he?"

"_He_ is Christian Grey… and he _was_ _so_ ogling you."

"Who is Christian Grey? The name sounds vaguely familiar but I can't place it."

She sighed. "You can't place it because you never take your nose out of your books long enough to notice what's happening around you in the world. Christian Grey happens to be one of the most successful entrepreneurs in the country, not to mention a generous philanthropist. He's just about freaking royalty in Seattle… and he's consistently voted the city's number-one eligible bachelor because he's young and gorgeous, in addition to everything else." She leaned in to whisper. "There are all sorts of innuendo about him because he's nearing thirty and has never been married or even linked seriously with any woman. It pisses people off so they start rumors about his being gay or horribly antisocial or a serial killer—or whatever they feel like saying."

She trained scrutinizing eyes on me as only Kate can. "But after that sizzling hot look he just gave you, I'd say gay he's not."

"Would you stop it, Kate? Why on earth would he look at _me_?"

"Oh, Ana, for God's sake, you own a damn mirror. You have to know how gorgeous you are. Long, silky hair, legs that won't quit, huge Pacific-blue eyes with lashes a poor blonde girl would kill for. I mean, puhlease."

I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment at Kate's gushing about my looks so I quickly maneuvered the subject to something else, a delicate art I'd perfected with Kate. All one had to do was gently steer the conversation by mentioning something to do with Kate's dual interests of clothes and her poli-sci professor whom Kate had been crushing on for four years, and the previous subject was forgotten like yesterday's linguine that was left overnight in the pan of garlic and oil. Yuck.

I shake my head almost imperceptibly to try to physically dispel the memory. If only I could talk to Kate about my problem… but I'm ashamed and horrified at the predicament I've gotten myself into. It began so innocently. In high school back in Cleveland, my best friend was Joline Rehnquist. Joline's mother was Swedish and had emigrated to the States when she was pregnant with Joline. Her husband—Joline's father—had remained in Sweden with their two-year-old son Hans, ostensibly for another year, which was the term of an engineering contract he had committed to. Ingrid wanted to come while pregnant so her daughter would be an American citizen. What ended up happening was the father, Sven, met another woman and filed for divorce from Joline's mom. He kept his son with him in Sweden.

Hans kept getting into trouble. His father began having more children with his new wife and Hans became dispensable. He began to hang out with bad elements and got involved in petty crime. Joline's mom tried every which way to bring Hans to the U.S. but between the father's refusal and the boy's criminal record, it was impossible. Years passed.

The summer after Joline and I graduated from high school, Ingrid Rehnquist planned to take her daughter to visit relatives in Stockholm. She asked my parents if she could bring me with them. I jumped at the chance to go abroad and pestered my parents until they finally gave in. It was my first trip abroad.

All too soon, I developed a serious crush on the handsome blond boy who was Joline's brother. He and I spent a lot of time together during the six weeks of our stay. It was Hans who suggested we get married while I was in Sweden. That way, he could finally get a residency card as the husband of an American citizen. At first, I said no. Unequivocally. I did not want to break the law with a fake marriage and I definitely wasn't ready for a real one.

But after spending some time thinking about it—while gorging on dark chocolate to calm my anxiety—I decided it was the decent thing to do. True, I would be sort of circumventing US immigration policy but how could the government deprive Joline's mother of her son? I soon convinced myself it was the righteous path.

Hans managed to get all the paperwork in order and two days before the three of us returned to the States, Hans and I were married by Joline's uncle, an ordained reverend. As soon as I arrived back in the States, I filed the paperwork to get my new husband into the U.S.

Not long after, Ingrid, Joline's mom, called me. That was the first phone call I'd never forget.

"Ana?"

"Yes, Mrs. Rehnquist?"

"Hans is not going to be permitted to emigrate after all. I'm calling to ask you if you want to annul the marriage, dear."

"But why? I filed all the appropriate paperwork and the immigration attorney told me everything was full steam ahead."

"I know, darling Ana. It's not your fault. It seems Hans got in trouble with the law and… well, he's not going to be able to leave Sweden. I don't think it's fair to tie you up in a marriage when he may never be able to emigrate. I'm going to have the attorney file paperwork to have the marriage annulled."

I thought about blond, beautiful Hans and felt like crying. It was his fault, of course, but I felt terrible. He was a sweet young man who made very poor decisions. Now both he and his mother—and sister, too, for that matter—would suffer greatly for those crappy choices. "Okay, thanks. I'd appreciate it, Mrs. Rehnquist. I'm very sorry."

"No, Ana, you did all you could to help and I love you very much for it. I'll keep you apprised of the annulment."

A week later, Joline's mother had to go to Sweden to assist Hans in some way. Joline stayed with me and my parents. She ended up staying the rest of the summer. When September rolled around, Joline and I parted to go away to college. I never heard back from Mrs. Rehnquist but I assumed the annulment went through as planned.

It didn't.

Two weeks ago, I received a call from a man named Robert Downey Jr. I thought it was a joke.

It wasn't.

"I'm a U.S. district attorney. I just happen to have the misfortune of sharing a name with a colorful actor." He cleared his throat. "Am I speaking to Ana Steele Rehnquist?"

"Actually my name is Ana Steele."

"You were married to a Swedish citizen by the name of Hans Rehnquist four years ago June, ma'am?"

"Yes, very briefly. The marriage was annulled shortly after I returned to the U.S. from a trip abroad."

"I have some bad news for you."

My pulse began to thrum. My first thought was that something happened to Hans."

"I'm afraid the marriage was never annulled. Your husband has been missing for several years and is presumed dead. Unfortunately for you, he left behind large amounts of debt. As his legal wife, you are now liable for those debts, ma'am."

"Oh my God. Hold on for a minute, please." I staggered over to a chair, my legs suddenly unable to hold my weight. I felt lightheaded and queasy. Putting the phone to my ear again, I asked the $64,000 question, hoping it wasn't really, "How much?"

There was a pregnant pause before he resumed speaking. "As it stands now including assessed penalties, a hundred, eighty thousand in US dollars."

"What? Are you kidding me? I don't have that kind of money. And my marriage was supposed to have been annulled weeks after the wedding took place. Why am I responsible for his debts?"

"That's the law, Mrs. Rehnquist—"

"My name is not Rehnquist; my name is Ana Steele," I practically screamed at him.

His voice remained calm and steady. "Unfortunately, there is no record of an annulment. As his legal wife, you assume his assets and liabilities. Unfortunately for you, he had no assets."

"Have you been in contact with either of his parents?"

"No, ma'am. You might want to look into that, though."

"I suppose I'll need to hire a lawyer. Oh, God, this is like a nightmare. Okay, tell me what I need to do, step by step…"

That was nearly a month ago. I was unable to reach Joline or her mother. The immigration attorney I contacted wasn't able to do all that much for my, except to get my debt on a pay schedule, so I could make payments rather than remit in one lump sum, an impossible task. If I failed to meet the payments in a timely manner, I would have my salary garnished, probably for the rest of my life. The attorney informed me that the collection agency won't worry if I have enough to live on—all they care about is that the debts get paid as part of a reciprocal agreement between the U.S. and the European Union. No one I spoke with offered me any hope of a way out. I frantically tried to contact Joline but the girl had vanished—she didn't even have a Facebook account.

Just when I hit rock bottom emotionally and felt on the verge of a breakdown, my coworker Martine at the bookstore came up with a semi-solution. It was the only one anyone had come up with so I was not quick to dismiss it.

"Ana, I have a friend who works for an escort service. I told her about your predicament and she asked me what you looked like. When I told her you were beautiful, she said she could get you a job at the escort service. She said it's possible to make ten grand a month, if you don't mind giving up the hours."

"I'm not going to prostitute myself, Martine."

"Ana, it's not prostitution. I mean, I guess it could go there if you wanted it to. Katrina told me you can just act as an escort, accompanying rich, old men to functions—you know, arm candy for them. Then, if you want to make even more money, you can offer other services. Look, why don't you speak to Katrina before you dismiss it out of hand. It could be a way out of your predicament."

"Okay, I'll speak to her. Thanks."

"You should also file for that annulment that never went through."

"Yes, I'm in the process of doing just that."

"Good." She took out a pen and wrote on the back of an empty envelope. "Here's Katrina's number. Call her and get more details, Ana. Don't let this thing control you. Get some positive action going to resolve it."

"Thanks, Martine. You're the only one I've told about this who had anything positive to tell me. It's been a nightmare…"

I worked up my courage all that night and finally called Katrina the next morning. What the young woman told me was interesting enough for me to take the next step and call Madame Irina, the woman who ran the escort service. Based on the name and the nature of the business, I sort of expected a dragon lady of sorts but Madame Irina had a soft, lilting voice and seemed so kind. She invited me out for coffee the next morning.

We met at a local Starbucks. I was happy at the neutral and public meeting place. God, I was so nervous about this inquiry that it took all of my courage just to show up. I walked in and my eyes panned over the large room, looking for a petite blond woman with a red coat. I soon found her sitting in the corner rear, sipping an espresso and reading the New York Times. Without bothering to order anything, I walked over to the woman before I lost my nerve, which was not in great abundance at the moment.

"Excuse me?"

"Ana?"

"Yes."

The woman rose. She looked to be about sixty years old but still beautiful. She extended a slender hand laden with expensive rings. "Hi. I'm Irina. Please have a seat." She gestured to the empty chair opposite her own. "May I get you anything to eat or drink?"

Dazed by the situation, I shook my head slightly. "No… I… um feel a bit under the weather right now."

Irina's brown eyes clouded. "Oh? I hope you aren't ill?"

"No." I offered her the best smile I could muster under the present circumstances. "Just a little queasy over my unfortunate situation."

"Ah. Well, let's see if we can help ameliorate the difficulty, shall we?"

"Yes, thank you."

"I'll explain everything so you won't go into anything blindly but first I must ask you some questions. First, are you employed or engaged in any way by any arm of law enforcement?"

"No."

"Do you have any moral or religious objections to paid companionship?"

"No."

"Good. When it comes to sexual matters, would you consider yourself open-minded?"

I took a moment to consider the question. "I'd say yes."

"On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the most rigidly closed-minded and one being the most open-minded and tolerant, where would you rate yourself?"

"Can you be more specific in your definition of sexual matters?"

Irina stared into my eyes, her own inscrutable. "I mean everything, from paid sex to unusual sexual acts, or same-sex or multiple partners. It's not that I'm asking you to do anything you're not comfortable doing, but if you are in my employ, you will run across others doing all manner of things. I must be confident that you will not sit in judgment of them nor have any compunction to take any action, legal or otherwise, against them."

"Are children and animals excluded from the "all manner of things"?

"Yes," Irina answered swiftly and unequivocally.

I nodded. "Okay, then I'd rate myself at two-point-five."

Cocking her head, Irina looked at me with a hint of a smile on her face. "Most girls would answer that differently. Makes me tend to think you're more honest than them. Can you tell me why you're not at one?"

Casting my eyes down, I scrabbled for words to explain myself. "I don't like men objectifying women nor women allowing them to do so. Apart from that, I was raised in a fairly religious environment—and though personally I'm not, I cannot shed the underlying beliefs completely. However, even if I find myself judging another, I can confidently promise I will not ever seek legal redress unless a crime against a person is committed."

"Well, prostitution is considered a crime, Ana."

Hurrying to explain again, I began to trip over my words. "What I mean will… no… I mean to say a crime _against_ another, as in assault, rape… that kind of thing."

Irina rested her chin on her laced fingers, all the while studying me at length. "What would you do if you came across something of that nature while in my employ, Ana?"

"I would immediately contact and inform you."

"Not the police?"

"No, not the police."

Irina stopped speaking then, finished her espresso, and sat back, still looking at me. I started to become disconcerted over the long silence but forced myself to sit still and not fidget. Finally Irina sat closer. "I understand you're in dire need of a large amount of money. Is that correct?"

Hating to characterize myself in such a desperate way, I considered what my answer should be. Ultimately I opted for the truth. "I wouldn't say dire… not yet. However, I'm being forced to pay another person's debts and I do not have the resources to do so. I am seeking some kind of very high-paying employment but there are lines I simply won't cross."

"And those lines? What are they, dear?"

"I won't prostitute myself… at all. I will, however, act as escort for whatever gentleman needs one, if the pay is sufficient."

"I think we may be able to work together, Ana. I'm hosting a big, swanky party next weekend at my estate. I will provide you with appropriate attire to wear. This party is a meet and greet for my clients and staff. I employ young men and women and each one has his or her own limitations. Some have none. Of course, they are the ones who make the most money. However, I do have a few who will do nothing but provide companionship to events or evenings out. You can earn quite a respectable amount of money doing only that, and with your good looks, you will be in demand. Are you interested?"

"Yes, I am."

"Very well, here's how it works. My clients are all important men and women. They pay premium fees for discretion and confidentiality. Accordingly you will be required to sign legal documents prohibiting you from divulging any confidential or proprietary information. I should add that you may not assume that it's unenforceable simply because we bend the law here and there. We have very important people among our roster of clientele. They keep us powerful."

I nodded my assent, absorbing the information.

"Second," Irina continued, "after you sign the paperwork, you will then be required to submit to a full physical and a battery of blood tests to ensure you're in good health. Even if no intimate relations are planned, our staff members all need to be in excellent health. I have a private doctor who will do the examination and the blood draw and with your signed consent, will forward me the results. Are you still with me?"

"Yes, I am."

"Good. When these steps are completed, you will report to a salon on Fifth Avenue where you will be measured for clothing. The first thing you will receive will be an appropriate gown and accessories for the meet and greet. The cost of these items will be deducted from your salary; however, I am given a hefty discount by the designer, due to all the business I bring him. It will not bankrupt you. Any questions or concerns?"

"Sorry to be crass but how much money can I expect to earn?"

"It depends on what services you offer. I will leave paperwork with you today that details the various services we provide and how much you will earn from each one. We split the fees 55/45 with the larger share going to you and the house getting the smaller share. I believe this is quite generous. However, I should say that you are expected to split all bonuses or extras that you might get, with the house. Failing to do so will result in immediate termination. Is that clear?"

"Yes, very clear."

"If you follow my rules, Ana, I think this will be a mutually beneficial arrangement for us."

That was last week. In the ensuing eight days since that meeting, I satisfied all the requirements Irina had laid out, and the finishing touches had been put on the gown yesterday. I had to admit that it was gorgeous. Midnight blue satin to set off my eyes, it was sleeveless, with a tight bodice and a ruched skirt. I just hoped I'd be able to walk in it. The shoes were sandal stilettos—the ankle and t-straps encrusted with sparkling blue and clear gemstones. The heels had to be five inches high. Irina loaned me a few pieces of jewelry to go with the outfit. Everything was waiting for me at Irina's estate. The _staff_ gets dressed on-site so everyone looks perfect for the party.

Following the directions, I take the next exit and follow it around the bend, making a left at the light. From there, my GPS directs me to an exclusive leafy neighborhood of very large houses. Watching the address numbers painted on the curbs ascend, I quickly find number 131.

Wow. The house is beyond impressive. It is a sprawling Colonial-style home, white with elegant green shutters, and green and white striped awnings. The sweeping expanse of velvety green lawn slopes up to a stone wall, and the house is just beyond the border of stone and wildflower. Dusk is just settling over the area, the sky is painted with streaks of pink amid the white and blue, and the indoor and outdoor lighting of the estate begins to come alive. The beauty of the setting takes my breath away as I drive toward the circular drive and see the trees all around the house spring to life with tiny white points of light hovering in the branches like jewels. It resembles a fairyland.

As my little car nears the back of the house, following the signs I come to a stop as a young man steps into the road in front of me and holds up his hand.

I roll down my window and gaze at him inquiringly.

"Miss? We do valet parking. You get out here and hand us the keys and someone will escort you inside."

"Oh. Okay, thanks." I shut off the ignition and pull out the key. "Here," I say, extending my hand with the key.

"Thank you." He smiles and I notice for the first time how handsome he is. Does Irina hire only goodlooking people for every staff position? I wonder if Mr. valet parking doubles as an escort.

A female materializes from in front of tall bushes and holds out her hand. "Come. Ana, correct?"

Surprised, I stare and catching myself, nod quickly, astonished. "You have me at a disadvantage, I'm afraid."

The young woman sticks her hand out. "I'm Minx. I'll be shadowing you tonight as your mentor."

"Oh, thank God. I'm so nervous that I'm afraid I'll screw up majorly or something."

"Don't worry: Irina covers all bases. These parties are ultra important to the assignments we get all year. All of the clients try to make it to them so they can select their favorite escorts. Irina wants her top people represented… and she's banking on you to become one of her top people."

"Really? I thought I'd be low on the list considering I'm not willing to do much of anything."

"Oh? Well, that may change. If not, you'll still be popular. Come on, we have to get ready and be in the ballroom in less than an hour. Let's go."

Minx hustles me into the back of the house, leading me down a flight of stairs to a finished lower level. Done in beach colors of sand and blue, it is sumptuously luxurious. When we walk through a door at the end of the hall, I can't believe my eyes. The room is filled with full-length mirrors and well lit and in front of every mirror is a woman or a man primping. It looks like the prelude to a debutante coming-out ball. Gowns of every color of the rainbow glitter and sparkle around us and there is a cloud of hairspray hovering in the air. Minx tugs on my hand as I stop to gape at the scene.

"Come on, Ana, We have to have our hair and makeup done and then get dressed."

An hour later, we're in the ballroom and my heart is pounding so hard I can hear nothing else but my pulse throbbing in my ears with each beat. Though the music is relegated to background noise by my heartbeat's frantic staccato rhythm, I can hear it's a soft jazz type of accompaniment. When we are all assembled in a contiguous line around the room, the massive double doors open and the clients enter and take their seats. I'm shocked to see they're all wearing black masks but I can't say anything to Minx for we were instructed to be completely silent. The clients are to peruse us as we stand and then Irina will announce each one of us and we are to walk across the room, stand in a spotlight as she introduces us, and then walk to the other end of the room. Once every escort is introduced, we are finally allowed to mingle with the clients. Irina instructed everyone to drink no more than one glass of wine or champagne.

As we stand there, my legs are shaking. The fact that I'm wearing giant heels is not helping the situation and I pray to every deity I've ever heard of to not let me trip or fall. It's not that I'm normally clumsy: it's just that I'm a fervent believer in Murphy's Law and I'm living proof of the damn thing. I've never been one to like to attract attention, so the fact that I'm on display makes me uber uncomfortable.

Minx has informed me there are eighty escorts in attendance tonight so it will take some time before we are all introduced. I'm standing about midway through the line. The introductions go by quickly and all too soon it's my turn. When Irina announces my name, I leave the line and walk in what I hope looks like a confident gait to the spotlight. Stopping there, I face the audience in the darkened room and smile as charmingly as I can under the circumstances. I'm so happy I can't see any of their faces. Irina gives them my first name only, my age, my educational background, and my interests. All of this information was on a card I'd filled out last week. When she's done, I nod my head gently in acknowledgement and stride to the other end of the room.

Whew. It's over and I made it through without embarrassing myself. I wait patiently for the rest of the people to be introduced. After she finishes with the last escort's intro, Irina encourages everyone to mingle and the lights go up. The music becomes a bit louder, the waiters start weaving through the crowds with trays of champagne, and the clients rise from their seated positions to join us on the floor. Minx is by my side until about thirty seconds later, when a sixtyish gentleman approaches me. At the same time, a younger man and woman approach Minx. We have to separate.

"Hello, Ana isn't it?"

"Yes," I nod, quickly scanning his appearance. He's wearing what looks like a very expensive tuxedo. His nails are manicured, silvery white hair styled, skin is tanned and healthy looking. Expensive watch. "Hello. Might I know your name?"

"Not just yet, my dear. I'd like to chat a little while first."

"Oh. Of course."

"Tell me a bit more about yourself."

"What would you like to know?"

"What is your ethnic background? I've been trying to figure it out."

"Oh? What did you come up with?"

"I narrowed it down to Russian and/or French. How close am I?"

"No Russian as far as I know. I believe the majority is British but there's some French and Finnish thrown in there, as well."

"Finnish? I never would have even guessed it. I'm not sure they have a distinct national identity."

"Perhaps not," I say, recalling Irina's instructions of never disagreeing with a client.

"Where are you from, Ana?"

"Ohio."

"Ah, the Buckeye State."

"Yes. I miss it sometimes."

"What brought you to Seattle?"

"School."

"What did you study?"

"I studied everything I could cram into my schedule but I have twin majors in English—literature to be specific—as well as digital arts. I wanted to have a back-up."

"Smart. So, Ana, if I were to request your company, what might I expect?"

I had practiced for this part and though completely terrified, my conversation rehearsal last night in my bathroom mirror—a litany of inane remarks—actually helped my answer seem natural and seamless. At least _I_ thought so. Taking a deep breath, I answered him. "You might expect to have an enjoyable evening, sir. I will be punctual, dressed appropriately, converse at the right moments, and be silent when required. I can laugh at all of your jokes and hold your hand for comfort."

His blue eyes look at me keenly. "Is that all?"

"Pretty much, yes."

"Very good. It was indeed a pleasure making your acquaintance, Ana. I hope we meet again."

"Yes," I say with a frozen smile, my confidence shaken. He never gave me his name and that can only mean one thing: he is rejecting me. Is it because I won't go further than being an escort? Probably. I turn away from the man, feeling my face flush, and scan the immediate area for Minx. I don't see her, but why? She promised she'd shadow me for the entire evening. What happened to her? Before I can find her, another man makes his way over to me.

"Hello. Your name is…?"

"Ana."

"Hello, Ana. I'm Michael."

He extends his hand and I accept it to shake. But he doesn't release me and his hand is warm and sweaty. I want to run away right about now but I probably couldn't find my way out of the freaking huge house. "Hi, Michael. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Tell me how much you'll offer me as my escort, Ana."

Wow. He had no preamble at all—just right down to business. These guys don't even pretend to be gentlemen. Summoning my inner thespian, I smile warmly. "I'm willing to provide companionship to dinners and events. I will be punctual, appropriately dressed, and will conduct myself with grace and decorum."

"No further services, then?"

"None," I say with no hesitation.

He smiles and his eyes are so cold and mean that I actually have to suppress a shudder. "Well, good for you. I'll say goodnight now."

"Yes, goodnight." Now I'm pissed. Irina led me to believe that many men were looking for escorts and nothing else. The first two men who gravitated toward me wanted more than that. If they were any indication, I wouldn't be very successful in this endeavor. I turn around to once again check for Minx and my eyes catch those of a young blond man. He smiles and saunters over.

"Hi there, gorgeous. I won't take up too much of your time. Tell me if you offer any intimate services along with your escort?"

"No," I say, by now sure this is going down the drain.

But he smiles instead. "How about unusual services?"

"Unusual? Such as?"

"Such as allowing yourself to be put in bondage and whipped. Or blindfolded and subjected to sensory exploration. Orgasm denial, tickling, hot wax—fun stuff like that."

My face must reflect my shock because he laughs, loudly and with mirth. Now, I'm no innocent—I've read about things like that… but I didn't think they really existed and people actually practiced that kind of thing.

"I think I could interpret your answer from the look on your face," he finally comments. "Goodnight, gorgeous."

"Goodnight, uh… well, I don't know your name."

He leans in as if to tell me a secret. "You must be brand spanking new. At these types of parties, the only people who offer their names are the escorts—and I'm sure they're all _nom de plumes_ of sorts. The clients never identify themselves until they actually go out on a public date with someone. So you might as well give up on asking, Ana."

He knew my name, and stupidly, I used my real one. I need to talk to Irina about that. Damn it. "The man I spoke with before you gave me his name."

"It's probably not his actual name. Anyway, good luck to you."

"Thank you."

"There you are," I hear Minx's voice behind me. "I was looking for you."

"I stayed pretty much in the same spot; it was you who drifted, I thought."

"Yes, that couple who approached me wanted me to meet their friends. How did your first meeting go?"

I sigh. "Terrible. Three men approached me and as soon as I told them I was only offering my company, they all turned me down flat."

Minx's eyes held sympathy. "That's tough for your first night. But don't lose heart, Ana. There are some clients who really do need only escort service."

"That's what Irina told me… but are you sure it's true or was she hoping I'd change my mind?"

"No, it's really true. Some men only want a beautiful woman for public appearances. Like, for example, gay men who don't want to come out. They will hire a woman as a beard… and the prettier, the better."

"Maybe I'm not beautiful enough?"

"Ana! Of course you are—you're stunning. You'll be fine. Uh-oh, incoming: wipe your nose and stand up straight."

"Wait, Minx!" She turns around at the urgency in my voice, I think. "Please don't desert me tonight. I need you."

"I won't, Ana. I'll be in the vicinity at all times, okay? Now, pretend to relax and smile. There's a live one on his way."

I turn just as two men, one dark-haired, and one fair approach. The fair-haired boy goes right to Minx, the dark beauty drifts toward me. Even though they're wearing masks, it's easy to tell they're exceptional looking. Both are tall, over six feet. As soon as the dark-haired man is in front of me, everyone else drops away.

The first thing I notice is that he smells so good—it's a light, masculine scent that's subtle, perhaps aftershave or deodorant rather than cologne. Then I see how beautifully tailored his black suit is and how it drapes over his body in a way that fashion designers dream about. Then I hear his voice.

Deep, dark, sexy… with a dash of scariness. Oh my God, I'm in trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I think y'all deserve another chapter for your exuberant response. Don't you?

Chapter 2

"You look strangely familiar."

His voice is like rich dark chocolate. I want to close my eyes and go _Mmm_, like after the first bite of a really fattening and scrumptious dessert, but I'm far too nervous to enjoy it right now. Instead, I gather my courage, hissing in a deep breath so my nerves aren't obvious, smile and answer him. "Why _strangely… _or shouldn't I ask?"

The mask covers his upper face so I can only see his eyes—they're sort of colorless but have such clarity that I could see all the swirls in his irises—and his mouth and chin. His lips are full with a slight cleft in the center of his bottom lip and he has a very strong, square chin. He's clean-shaven but I can see the shadow of where his beard grows. I find that so sexy—as all women do, I think.

In answer to my question, his lips turn up in a sly smile. "Oh, there's nothing strange about you, Ana. It's just that Madame Irina mentioned that you were brand new here and I tend to doubt I know you outside of this realm… unless you have a day job in the corporate world? I suppose that's possible."

"No, actually, I don't. Until very recently, I've been a full-time student." I tilt my head, trying to see beyond the mask. "I think I can assure you, fairly positively, that we've never met before—if that's a concern."

"No, not a concern… merely an observation." He pauses for a beat and then says, "I suppose this is the point in the conversation when I'm to ask you what services you're offering?"

Suddenly I was tempted to offer more to keep him as a possible client. But I just can't just trample on my values. Besides, I'm still a virgin. To have waited all of these years for the right one to come along, years when my friends had been having sensual romances and sharing all the juicy details… only to end up selling it? That was asking too much of my soul.

I try to ready myself to watch him walk away. "Apparently it may also signal the end of the conversation or so that's been my very limited experience. I'm offering only my companionship."

The slight smile he'd been sporting widened with my answer. "Refreshing response, Ana. Usually I need my iPhone to record the answers—they're so lengthy in what they're willing to accommodate. I'm sorry that others have walked away."

"Are you saying you won't be among that group? I mean, you don't seem the type to require paid companionship."

"No, I don't."

"If I were allowed to ask questions, I'd want to know why you're here, in that case."

"Nice roundabout way of subverting the rules. What did you study in school?"

I smile. "Nice roundabout way of avoiding the roundabout question."

He laughs and I feel tingly heat deep inside my belly. God, what a sexy laugh. I want to know this man!

"Touché. Honestly, I'd rather not explain what brings me here, but I can say with no duplicity that I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise."

"Is it ungentlemanly for me to ask the same question of you after just declining to answer it myself?"

I hesitate. I'm unsure if it's wise to share anything about my private life, even with someone so seemingly nice. Blindly trusting people is what got me in this situation to begin with and I need to wise up—and soon. Irina's only advice in this regard was to go with my own instincts. I decide to answer in a vague way. "I find myself with unexpected debt and require extra income."

He cocks his head, speculating. "Well, education loans are not unexpected so I'll assume it's something else." He glances around the room and then gestures with an open arm. "Do you find this type of work appealing or do you feel pressured into it?"

Why does he care, I wonder? I'm not doing anything illegal, am I? The only attorney I know is the immigration attorney I contacted to assist me with the debt collection. I'm sort of flying blind here. I realize I'm not very savvy for a twenty-two-year-old woman but I've been rather sheltered all my life and spent all my free time within the pages of make-believe. Lily Bart and Elizabeth Bennett I know: the legal distinction between prostitution and perhaps hospitality (if providing escort service can be so called) not so much. In retrospect, I should have gone to law school.

He's waiting for my answer while I ruminate. "I don't feel pressured, per se, but it's not really what I aspire to do, to pretty much understate my situation."

"I see. I'm sorry to hear that, Ana. Truth told, you do not seem like the type to be here."

Just then his blond friend comes up behind my beauty and slaps him on the back. "Time to move along, bro. You have to spread your sunshine more equitably among the ladies," he says and winks at me with a huge grin. I smile back at him. He looks like a nice guy. Both of them do.

Tall-dark-and-handsome shifts his glance to the other man and judging from the part of his face I could see, he looks like he's scowling. Blond hunk ignores it, and seems to be enjoying himself immensely. "Go on. I'll keep this one company while you meet others."

"No, I don't think so," came the deep-voiced response.

"Now, now, you can't monopolize this lady. It's my turn to charm her."

It looks like the scowl now becomes a glare. "I don't think there's the slightest danger of that happening."

"Move along now. Step away from the pretty girl…"

I'm watching the verbal sparring with interest, trying to decide what kind of relationship they have when my dark beauty smiles, bows at me, and says, "Very well. It's been indeed a pleasure to meet you, Ana. I wish you a good night."

I nod my acknowledgement and smile, too. Inside, I'm hurting though. I don't want him to leave. I like him! Meeting him was the highlight of my evening. It's going to go back downhill now, I think, as I watch him walk away. Blond hunk turns back to me, still grinning.

"I love to mess with him—he makes it so easy. He's my brother, by the way."

"Oh? Your coloring is so different from his."

He nods congenially. "Different mothers. Anyhow, he's just here to do me a favor and I'm here because a friend of mine needed some moral support. But I have to go to another engagement so my brother will no doubt leave, too. Ana, he said your name is?"

"Yes." I have mixed feelings. I'm thrilled to learn a tidbit of information about my dashing guy but let down that he'll be leaving and I won't be. I suppose I can go, but Irina very kindly invited me to spend the night. I decide then and there that if the next man disappoints me in any way, shape, or form, I'll retire for the night. Feeling better, I say goodnight to the fair-haired boy.

"Yes, good night to you, too. I wish you luck tonight but I doubt you'll need any."

Not willing to launch into any explanation, I just nod and smile. Next up, please. I want to get out of these infernal heels—my feet are killing me!

The next man I meet is very pleasant and he doesn't walk away mad. I think he's gay so maybe he will become my client. Balding and of average height, he nonetheless is dressed very well and is gregarious. After we discuss the meager services I'm offering, he takes my hand, brushes his lips across the knuckles and promises to request me for his next big function. "I have a high-profile occupation so I need arm candy on a regular basis. I think you'll be perfect for the job."

"Thank you," I say and truly mean it. I'm so touched by his acceptance that I want to hug him. The only thing that stops me is my uncertainty as to how he would receive it. So instead I give him my warmest smile and reach over to gently squeeze his wrist. "I really enjoyed meeting you."

"That's nice to hear. My name is Kent. You'll be hearing from me soon, Ana. Have a good night."

Minx appears by my side a minute later. "Well, how goes it?"

"Much better, thanks. I think I have my first client!"

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Mr. Gorgeous?"

Laughing, I say, "No such luck. I met a very nice man who I'm pretty sure fits your description of who might be interested in escort-only. I'm thrilled with him actually. But Mr. Gorgeous? I want to marry him."

Minx laughs. "Well, I wouldn't mind marrying his blond friend."

"That's his brother."

"Is that what he told you?"

"Why, do you think he lied?"

"Probably. Everyone pretends here."

"Oh. Minx, I think I'm done for the night. My feet are killing me and I'm pretty discouraged despite my one win. Irina invited me to stay overnight but I don't know where to go or who to ask."

"You and I are in adjacent suites so I can take you to your room. The mixer for the general assembly is nearly over now anyway."

"What do you mean by general assembly?"

"Come on. I'll tell you about it on the way to your room. Did you eat anything?"

"I ate before I came here."

She nods. "I'll have something sent up to you. Staying at Irina's is akin to staying at a five-star hotel so we might as well enjoy it."

She leads me out of the ballroom into a sumptuous hall lined with white marble and dark gleaming wood. We walk through a foyer all the way to the rear of the house and stop at a small elevator. It's waiting on the main floor so we step in and Minx presses number two out of a selection of four buttons. When the door swishes open again, we're in a softly luxurious hall, and it's cool and quiet. Ah, relief.

"Here's your room," Minx says, stopping at the second door on the left. Mine's the next one down. Okay?"

"Yes. So tell me about the general assembly thing."

"Well, everyone attends the opening part of the party so the clients can see _all_ of the escorts. Then the ones like you leave and the ones like me stay. Simple."

I narrow my eyes and give her my most suspicious look. "Like Ricky Ricardo used to say to Lucy, '_splain_, please."

"Who's Ricky Ricardo?"

"Oh, my mom used to watch this old black and white television show called _I Love Lucy_. Anyway, don't try to change the subject."

Minx is laughing, her black hair falling in her face as she bends down. I think she's avoiding answering. It must be bad. Finally she looks up. "Okay, here goes: for those of us who are willing to do more than merely escort, we assemble again and the men come round and choose us for a little try-out. Afterward, refreshments are served and the party breaks up."

"Try-out? The clients get to test drive the merch?"

Minx nods, a look of apprehension on her pretty face.

"For free?" I ask. I'm shocked, not just by the concept but also by the fact that Minx is doing it. I don't know why I'm shocked for I don't know her at all, but I am.

"Well, I suppose technically it's free but not really. They're required to buy us an expensive gift as a thank-you… and then of course they're expected to hire us throughout the year."

"Where does all of this take place?" I whisper.

"There are small rooms downstairs for the private sessions and a couple of larger ones for the specialties."

"Specialties such as…?"

"There's a swing room, and a leathersex room."

"Leathersex?" I choke out. "What the hell is that?"

"It's another term for BDSM. That room has the most interesting equipment."

"God, I'm such a babe in the woods here."

"Yeah, well, at least you a got a client on your terms. Now you can go to sleep, knowing you'll hang onto your clear conscience. I've got to go, Ana. Goodnight."

"Yes, goodnight, Minx."

She turns around and hurries back down the hall. I watch her progress and when she disappears, I let myself into the dimly lit room. Before I even turn on the overhead light, I go first for my heels and unstrap them. Ah, pure relief. I bend down to feel the softness of the fluffy bedcover. Oh my God, a featherbed! This is really the lap of luxury, I think, as my fingers glide over the expensive bed linens. Suddenly I can't wait to go to sleep. I begin to reach for the back zipper on my dress when I hear a deep voice say, "Here, let me do that."

I whip around and stare. Inside my room, wearing only a towel around his waist, is the mean, cold-eyed man who'd rejected me earlier.

"I was told that this was my room for the night."

"Yes. I was told the same. I think we started out on the wrong foot and came up to remedy that poor impression."

"Michael, isn't it?" At his nod, I continue. "Wrong foot or not, I'm not interested in pursuing anything further with you. Right now, I'd like to get some sleep so I'll ask you to leave, please."

In two quick steps he is in front of me. I attempt to back away but he grabs my forearm. "Let go."

"Oh, no. I think we should get better acquainted, right here, right now."

My heart is about to explode through my chest but I know I can't panic—I have to keep my wits about me. Inhaling deeply, I pretend to go along. "Well, aren't you persistent? Okay, fine, Michael. But I'd feel more comfortable if you'd put on some pants—at least initially." I smile, hoping it's a seductive smile and not a terrified but pretending to be sexy smile.

His hand skims my face and then runs down to my bare shoulder, around the curve of my breast and then lands on my hip. "That would be a wasted effort since I'll only need to take them off again."

"My but you're confident. I'm asking you a favor to just throw them on for a little while. I find it disconcerting to have a conversation with a handsome man who has nothing on but a towel."

"Sweetheart, I'm not interested in conversation."

"Michael, please humor me. At least put on a robe for ten minutes."

His face turns ugly and he slams me hard against the wall. "You don't seem to understand English very well. I said no. I want you to take off your clothes. Now."

I slide sideways out of his grasp and know I have no choice but to make a run for it with him right there in the room. The only thing I spy to use as a weapon is a lamp but it's on the other side of the fucking rapist. I just have to hope that I'll be faster in my gown than he'll be in the towel. Mentally counting one, two, three, I do an about-face and take off toward the door. He manages to snag some strands of my long hair just as I cross the threshold into the hallway but I am ready to sacrifice that chunk of my hair. I run as if my life depends on it for it just might.

I don't wait for the elevator. I search out a stairway and take the steps four at a time, falling once and twisting my ankle but I don't let the pain stop me. When I reach the landing, I burst out of the door. I can hear him in pursuit and he isn't far behind. In front of me is a door. It's locked. Damn it. I try another. Just as I'm reaching for the doorknob, it opens. I push past the person exiting and stop short.

Oh. My. God.

I have landed in the leathersex room. All around me are women in various amounts of bondage, some being whipped, some engaging in sex, oral or traditional. What stopped me in my tracks entirely is the scene right in front of me: Minx is lashed naked but for her thong to an x-shaped contraption, each limb tied to a separate arm and is being whipped with some implement with multiple strands. The man doing the whipping is so muscular that he has no discernible neck. What really freezes me in place is the man standing to his right, just out of the whip's trajectory, watching the scene intently. He's wearing his black trousers and white shirt, his jacket and tie gone, his sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. It's my dark-haired beauty. I must have made some kind of sound for he turns his head and spots me. I can see his strange eyes flicker with changing emotions: first surprise, then regret, then anger as Michael the would-be rapist tears through the door and grabs another handful of my hair, pulling me back against him.

It is a faint-or-cry moment. Before I have time to choose, everything fades to black.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

As soon as my eyes slide open, I'm alert, but my short-term memory is fuzzy. What happened? Something bad, I think.

I scan the room around me: it's a bedroom I've seen before… and a second later, it all rushes back in, like the inexorable return of the tide. It's the bedroom I'd been in when I was almost raped. Instant panic overwhelms me. Bolting upright, I whip my head around, searching for crouching danger, but thank God, there's no sign of a monster. The last thing I remember is running into the room, the awful red and black room, and seeing my dark-haired beauty watching Minx get whipped. Even before I was grabbed from behind, I might have passed out just from the shock of seeing him in such a compromising position. I'd thought better of him, I suppose. Stupid, I know, since I know less than zero about him. I fall back onto the pillows.

Hearing the door click open, my focus shifts toward it. Irina is coming toward me with a tray. Her glittery red gown is gone; in its place is a plain blue sweater dress and slip-on sandals. Walking to the bed, she eyes me intently.

"Ana, good, you're awake. How are you feeling, dear?"

I ease myself up into a semi-sitting position. "I'm okay. Just a little fuzzy on what happened."

"Oh, Ana, I'm so sorry about your terrible experience in my home. But don't worry: you're safe now. And just so you know, that awful man will never be welcome in my house or among my clientele ever again." She smiles and places the tray above my lap. "Here. I brought you something to eat and a hot drink. Minx will be in shortly to stay with you tonight. Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Will you tell me what happened?"

Irina's face is drawn—she looks upset when I ask the question and purses her lips. "Minx was there so I'll let her fill you in. Please forgive me for this terrible attack, Ana. I had no idea Michael was capable of such treachery. He's never been nice, I'll grant that, but he's always before behaved with an acceptable level of decorum. I'm shocked at what he did."

I nod, now anxious for Minx to come in and talk to me. I'm not sure I should be here in this house a moment longer. "What time is it?"

Irina checks her watch. "It's nearly two a.m."

"I think I need to get dressed in my street clothes and go home, Irina."

"No, Ana. It's too late and you need rest. You'll be safe here now, I _promise_." The door opens and without turning, Irina says, "Minx, come sit with Ana as she eats, and fill her in on what she missed during her unscheduled nap."

Minx tiptoes toward my bed. "Hey, good to see you with color back in your face. I never saw someone faint before. It was… upsetting."

"Yeah, well, you showed me new things last night, too… and ditto," I mutter and am gratified when her cheeks blossom with a full-on blush.

"Point taken."

Irina pats my hand. "Okay, I'll let you two chat. Let's continue our conversation over breakfast tomorrow, Ana. Nine a.m. Okay?"

I nod in resignation. I don't feel like driving home right now anyway.

She exits the room as Minx takes her place on my bed. "So… I'm betting you want to know what you missed."

"Is any of it good?"

Minx snorts with laughter. "Oh, yeah. I'd say so."

"Then tell," I say, reaching for the pickle next to the sandwich Irina brought me.

"First, your Mr. Gorgeous kicked the shit out of the sleazebag. It was poetry in motion—the man can fight, Ana. He must be a blackbelt or something because he took that guy down in seconds and didn't break a sweat. Then…" she looks at me pointedly, "do you wanna know what happened next?"

I finish crunching the sour pickle and pat my mouth daintily with a napkin. "No," I say, lying back down.

"Ana!"

I grin and sit up again. "Of course I want to know. What do you think?"

"Mr. Gorgeous carried you up here to your room. I threw my clothes back on," she looks at me sheepishly, "and came with him. Irina stayed to take out the trash."

"Did he say anything?"

"Who? Mr. Gorgeous?"

I nod.

"Not really. He just looked very pissed off. He did, however, give me this to give you." She hands me a folded piece of paper.

"Did you read it?"

Her green eyes blaze. "Of course not! I will admit it was very hard to resist but I persevered."

"How did that rapist know which room I'd be in?"

"No clue. Irina thought he might have overheard her giving instructions to her house manager. She remembered that he was one of the first clients to arrive.

My eyes shift back to the paper in my hand. I'm dying to read it but not sure I want to do so in front of Minx. Images of her naked, sweaty body strapped to the crossbars and being watched by my dark-haired beauty flood my mind and I feel embarrassed for her and… well, I'm unsure as to what I'm feeling about him. Is it anger or jealousy? Maybe a little bit of both. Certainly there's significant disappointment in him swirling about my soul like a kaleidoscope.

Minx touches my arm delicately. "Would you like me to leave while you read it?"

Mustering a smile, I cast my eyes down and feel my face heat up. "It's silly, I know, but I don't know if it will upset me or not."

"Why would it upset you? He was your knight in shining leather last night. I'm sure he has only kind things to say to you."

"Yes, but I think he may have been upset or annoyed that I discovered him in that room…"

"Why?"

I shrug my shoulders in an exaggerated manner, unsure if I want to pursue this line of conversation with her. After all, she was participating to a greater extent than my beauty. Truly I don't want to offend her for Minx has been nothing but kind to me. Seeing the troubled look on her face, I decide to just read the damn thing in front of her and unfold the small square of paper, willing my fingers not to tremble. Why am I so nervous?

The handwriting is masculine but nice and completely legible.

_Ana,_

_Tonight's events just prove that innocents like you should not dally in houses of ill repute like this one. Earlier you mentioned unexpected debt as your reason for being here. I'd like to help you out in that respect so you won't have to pursue this line of work. Here's my attorney's number. I'll tell him to expect your call. He'll find a way to help you out of your obligations that doesn't include putting yourself in places like Irina's. Please call him ASAP. That's not a request but a direct order. My assistance in this matter is to be kept confidential. Good luck with all._

It was signed, "_Your anonymous friend_."

I glance up at Minx and smile.

"Well?"

"It's nice. He never does tell me his name."

"That's all you're gonna give me?"

"He asked me to keep the note confidential."

"And you're going to abide by that? Sheesh." She glares at me but I can tell she's just playing so I smile. "Boy oh boy, Ana, you are a one-of-a-kind kinda girl—ethical to the max. Well, good for you. Now…" she pats my cheek, "are you going to eat that sandwich or will I have eat it for you?"

"Let's share it," I suggest. It appears to be chicken with brie on a brioche and it looks delicious. I carefully break it down the middle and hand Minx the slightly larger piece, which she accepts happily. As we eat, we discuss the evening. "So how'd you do tonight?"

Chewing thoughtfully, she answers even though she is currently staring into space. "It went well. I met a few live ones and my old faithfuls. My dance card should be full this year."

"That's good then, right?"

"Oh, yes. Very good."

"Were you ever going to tell me about your extracurricular activities? I mean, I realize I just met you a few hours ago but peculiarly, I feel as if we've been friends forever."

"No, to the interrogative, and, yes, I feel the same way, to the statement."

"Did you think I'd judge you?"

Minx looks down, shame etched across her face. I reach out and lift her chin with my thumb and index finger, the way my dad used to do to me whenever we'd have a heart to heart. "Minx? If it makes you feel bad, why do you do it?"

She keeps her face low—she is starting to break my heart. What I said is very true: we only met earlier this evening but we bonded instantly. As soon as I set eyes on her appealingly pretty heart-shaped face and large green eyes, I felt like I was with a true friend.

"Minx, if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I'm not here to judge you; I'm sure you have your reasons for everything you do."

"No, Ana, I'm trying to figure out how to explain it. When I first came to Irina's, it was just to make money. I didn't want to be a stripper or a streetwalker. Irina provided a safe, clean way to make beaucoup bucks. From the start, I was willing to go further than you. My sexual experiences up till that time had been lackluster—to say the least. I also knew that to make the really good money, I had to have sex with these men. I'm paying my way through med school so I needed the dollars."

"Med school? Wow, good for you! That's amazing."

She grins ruefully. "You'd be surprised how many of us do it. Tuition is expensive and the work so time-intensive that it's impossible to work steady hours at a normal job. This one worked for me."

She holds up her hand. "I didn't know about the specialties thing when I first arrived. Irina doesn't want to frighten away new recruits by revealing all the gory details. But I had a mentor as you did with me, and she filled me in." She finally looks up. "The thing is, Ana, that the hardcore sex is what I'd needed all along to enjoy sex but I didn't even know it existed."

"You _needed_ it?"

Nodding forcefully, she tries to explain. "When I was a kid, still a little girl—I didn't even know what sex was, not even a clue—I used to have these fantasies of men becoming physically aggressive with me. Not violent, you know, but just grabbing me and forcing me to do stuff. Since I didn't know about the sexual act, my mind substituted this kind of thing where the man would grab me and squeeze me in an embrace and I'd squirm. It was a hundred percent instinct, not learned, because we didn't own a television and I was homeschooled at the time, so I had zero exposure to anything remotely sexual. It was my innate sexuality. When I saw the leathersex room in full swing," she drops her voice to a whisper, "I was so aroused. I don't do it for the money, Ana. I do it for the sexual fulfillment."

"Oh." I don't know what else to say but I need to say something to reassure her. "That's much better than doing it for money. If you enjoy it and are doing it for yourself… well, that makes me feel better."

She smiles. "Do you think you'll ever try it?"

"Me?" I shake my head and choose my words carefully. "I sincerely doubt I'd ever be brave enough to try it but, hey, you never know. Maybe with a bathtub full of tequila and Mr. Gorgeous in his birthday suit, who knows what could happen?"

We both laugh and the tension is broken. I give Minx a hug. "We should try to get some sleep even though we just ate that damn sandwich. Irina wants us at breakfast at nine."

"Fucking Irina," she mutters and lifts herself off the bed. "Okay, I need to brush my teeth and wash up."

"Me, too." I get up with her. Fortunately the bathroom has twin sinks.

….

Carson McEvoy is the name of the attorney I'm to contact. I call him first thing Monday morning. It's not until the receptionist answers the phone that I realize I have no idea how to introduce myself since I don't know Mr. Gorgeous's name. Should I just call him Mr. Gorgeous and assume the lawyer will know to whom I'm referring? As a result of being caught off-guard, I sound like the village idiot.

"Johnson, McEvoy, and Roberts, how may I assist you?"

"Uh, yes, um, hello. I have… my name is Ana Steele and I was referred to Mr. Carson, I mean, Mr. McEvoy by, um, I guess you could say a mutual friend and…" I stop before I do more damage and because I don't know what else to say.

"Who referred you to Mr. McEvoy?"

"Okay, this is going to sound very strange but I don't know his name. I met him recently and he never gave me his name but he told me Mr. McEvoy would be expecting my call."

"Hold on, Ms. Steele, and I'll check for you."

"Thank you."

She puts me on hold and I sit there listening to Radiohead. Well, at least they have good music on hold. It makes it marginally better to wait. I do not, however, have to wait long. Before a minute passes, a man picks up the call and his voice is friendly and amused.

"Ms. Steele. Our mutual friend informed me you'd be calling. Without knowing anything about your problem, I'd like to have a conference with you right away. Please bring any and all materials relating to your situation, and you and I will set up a plan to address it. Okay?"

Taken aback by the swiftness of his agreement to help, I'm momentarily speechless.

"Ms. Steele, are you still with me?"

"Uh, yes. I'm sorry. Do I set up the appointment with you or your receptionist?"

"How about this morning? Is there any way you can get to my office before ten? I'm due in court at noon. I can juggle a few things and give you my morning. How's that?"

"That's great. Thank you so much, Mr. McEvoy. I'll be there in …oh, wait. I don't know where your office is located."

He laughs and rattles off the address. It's about twenty minutes away. If I take a power shower and dress quickly, I can be there in about forty-five minutes. It's eight-twenty now. "Is nine-fifteen convenient?"

"Perfect. See you then, Ms. Steele."

One hour and sixteen minutes later, sitting in his posh office, I finish explaining my whole sorry story to the astonished attorney. To his credit, he listened quietly the whole time and only interrupted to ask for clarification here and there. When I'm done, I stop speaking to wait for his response. Mr. McEvoy's next words are some I never would've predicted.

"Ana, this whole thing sounds like a very ambitious scam to me."

"A scam? What do you mean?"

He holds up his hand. "Allow me to ask you a few questions. First, when the U.S. Attorney contacted you, did you ever call him back?"

"Yes, I believe so… yes, definitely."

"Now think carefully: did you get his number through Google or a telephone directory at the DOJ or did you call a number he himself provided?"

"I called a number he provided but I remember it was only one or two digits different from the official contact number listed on the web site."

He nods. "A good con artist can easily achieve that and more. What about this so-called immigration attorney: you said you found him yourself?"

I nod in assent and then a thought slams into my brain: I got the immigration attorney's contact info from the information sheet the U.S. attorney sent me with all the debt information. I close my eyes in horror and groan at my own stupidity. "I did call him myself; however, I believe I chose him from a list given me by the so-called U.S. Attorney."

He just looks at me, his face kind.

I drop my face into my hands, dismayed by my gross gullibility. The thought keeps running—

"Ms. Steele?"

"Call me Ana, please."

"Look, Ana, don't beat yourself up about falling for it—these guys are professionals and they do their homework before they launch a sophisticated scam like this one. Have you made any payments at all?"

"No. I was supposed to send the first one this week."

"Excellent."

"He said his name was Robert Downey, Jr.—which I thought was bizarre but I checked it with the Department of Justice web site and there is indeed a U.S. Attorney by that name."

"As I said, they do their homework."

"You're sure this isn't legitimate?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I'll tell you how I know this is fraudulent, Ana, even before I do any checking. Number one, any immigration attorney worth his or her salt would never advise anyone to pay outright a foreign national's debt given these facts.

"Number two, unless you specifically signed a contract assuming responsibility for the debt at the outset, say for example a credit card or loan, jointly with your husband, you're not liable for any of his debts. In your case, especially under these unique circumstances, the marriage contract alone isn't enough to trigger your obligation to pay. Even in a community-property state such as Washington, this would be unlikely to hold up in court. You didn't benefit from any of this debt. He racked up this debt on foreign soil when you were living apart and assuming the marriage was properly annulled. Do we know if Hans is dead?"

I shake my head. "No, I haven't been able to contact any of the family."

"Now, your friend's mother told you she would take care of the annulment, correct?"

"Yes."

"Obviously you must have signed paperwork for her to assume she could do that."

"I think I signed a power of attorney, if I'm not mistaken."

"Power of attorney has limited scope. That said, we'll do a search to see if an annulment was granted. If not, we will apply for one. I'll also attempt to determine definitively if Hans is dead or alive."

He stopped talking. Were they done?

"Mr. McEvoy, I appreciate your consult and advice tremendously but I do not currently have the financial resources to engage your services. I—"

"Ana, it's been taken care of by our mutual friend."

"It seems overly generous for him to do when we barely know each other. I don't even know his name."

"Oh, that reminds me…" He removes a stapled group of papers from a folder on his desk and hands it to me. "Remember the agreement you signed for Madame Irina to ensure that all information that came into your possession through your employment was confidential and could not be divulged?

I nod my assent. It was only a few days ago.

"These papers represent a similar contract but this one pertains exclusively to our friend. Let's call him Mr. G. for ease of purpose."

Say what? My mouth literally drops open in shock. How does he know Minx and I call him Mr. Gorgeous? Do Irina's walls have hidden surveillance cameras? The idea nauseates me for it's very possible.

"Is something wrong?" he asks softly.

I shake my head vigorously for my voice would fail me right now.

He nods and, like a gentleman, pretends my behavior is not odd. "Please date and sign the last page by the yellow tape with the ex next to it. On the second page there is a security provision that very specifically outlines what information is to be deemed confidential. You'll need to read and initial it by the yellow tape, please."

I comply with his requests but my mind is racing with other attention-sucking matters such as does McEvoy know where I met Mr. G? Does he know what Mr. G likes to do in his spare time? Why is my dark-haired beauty insisting on legal protection when I don't even know his name? I mentally shake myself and try again to read the provision.

_..whereas the party of the first agrees that any and all of the following listed information is to be considered proprietary and confidential…"_

"Why proprietary?" I ask the attorney.

"My client uses these same forms for prospective employees. Proprietary information is any that a person would learn in the course of working for his corporation, be it trade secrets, client data, or personal information gained as a byproduct of said employment."

Nodding my understanding, I go back to the legal paper.

_Confidential information means any technical, business, or personal information furnished by the Disclosing party to the Receiving party in furtherance of the Purpose…_

It appears to be a standard legal form, at least to my untrained eyes. The only aspect that really interests me is that he's listed just about anything one might learn about him or his company. Reading this confidential disclosure agreement makes me even more curious as to Mr. G's identity. I pick up the pen McEvoy placed on the desk, and initial the security provision, then flip to the last page and sign it. "Is that it?"

The attorney checks the signature, looks at me, and smiles enigmatically. "For now, yes. I want you to leave all the paperwork you brought so I can have my paralegal do some research and verification. If anyone should contact you about the debt, stall. Do not give him or her any information. We don't want to alert them that we're onto them."

"Okay. What do I do in the meantime?"

"Do nothing. I will handle it all from here on in. If you're unsure about anything that comes up, call me. Now, I'm going to ask you to wait here for a moment, please."

"Um, okay."

He gets up from his desk and steps out through a different door than the one I came through. I cross and uncross my legs, like, four times, trying to get comfortable. Minutes pass and I'm wondering why he has me waiting. Is he making copies of my documents? No, because he left them on his desk. What could he be doing?

I pull out my phone to check for messages. There's one from Kate and a voice mail from my mother. As I'm answering Kate's message, I hear the door open and my eyes dart up. And further up.

It's not McEvoy standing there; it's my very tall, dark-haired beauty. Instead of a tux as he wore so well on Saturday night, he's wearing a beautifully tailored pearl gray suit. What he's not wearing, however, is a mask…


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Oh my God, youse guys are the best! I usually respond individually to reviews but there are too many, too fast and if I did, I'd never have time to write more chapters. So I'm going to say thank you now to everyone who read and reviewed. The enormous encouragement should last at least until the next chapter update (I will sink to any level for compliments). Seriously, though, thank you a hundred times and I'm so glad you are enjoying the story. xoxoxo

Chapter 4

He's heartstoppingly gorgeous.

I can't prevent the gasp from tearing out of my throat and my hand flies up as if to contain it. Apart from the fact that he's chokingly handsome, he also looks familiar. I've seen him before. When we met at Irina's party, he told me _I_ looked familiar and I assured him we'd never met. But now I know I've seen his face before.

The confidential disclosure agreement listed his name as C. Trevelyan Grey. The name does not ring any bells. But his is a face any woman with working ovaries or any hormones at all is not likely to forget.

I feel faint. Please, God, don't let me drop like dead weight again in front of this man. He'll think something's seriously wrong with me. Shakily, I rise to my feet. Though at 5 feet, six and a half inches, I'm not tiny, he towers over me, making me feel petite and delicate.

"I believe a more formal introduction is in order." That deep, rich voice makes things tingle in my body but I do my best to appear unaffected.

"Yes, I think so." Right now I'm incapable of saying anything witty at all. I'm lucky to force out any coherent words so, instead, I extend my hand in greeting.

He accepts it to shake and merely touching him again feels amazing and just a tad illicit, as if it's the precursor to more intimate touching.

"Hello, I'm Christian Grey. It's a pleasure to meet you."

_Christian Grey?_ I knew he had to be someone rich and important but he's _really _rich and important. And now I know why he looks familiar.

"Anastasia Steele." I offer him the biggest smile I can manage. "At Irina's, you said I looked familiar and I assured you we'd never met, which is true. However, I was dining in a local restaurant not too long ago and my friend pointed you out to me. Maybe that's why we seem familiar to one another."

"Oh?" He looks as if he's trying to suppress a smile, as if he knows a secret that I'm not privy to. Normally, it would keep me fretting over what he knows that I don't, but right now I'm much too busy loving everything about his face. His lips are perfectly shaped and sensual; he has a beautiful straight nose that's neither too large or too small, his eyes are light and clear and fringed by lush, dark lashes and his brows are so elegantly arched they look as if they've been threaded by an artist. Christian Grey is, in a word, beautiful. Greek-god beautiful.

"Yes," I continue, my voice sounding slightly off center, "my friend Kate's parents took us to Dashiell's to celebrate our graduation from UDub. As we were led to our table, we passed by yours." I shrug. "Kate pointed you out to me."

His eyes blaze with the memory. "I actually remember that, too. I saw you walk by and you looked like an angel."

I laugh. "Funny because I thought your date looked like a Victoria's Secret model. Don't they call them angels?"

Left brow raised, he smirks. "Do they? So, I'm curious: what did your friend say about me?"

My face grows hot as I recall exactly what she said but sharing it with him? Yeah, so not happening. "Oh, she just mentioned that the man at the table in front of ours was none other than Christian Grey."

He chuckles. "Now, tell me the truth: did you know who I was?"

Despite pressing my lips together to try not to smile, I find I can't suppress my guilty grin. "Actually, no. She explained it all to me, though, castigating me for not knowing anything outside of my books."

"Books?"

"I like to read. Apparently it annoys Kate."

"Well, please thank Kate for me for the introduction. Saves me the trouble. All right, Ms. Steele, Carson tells me he can easily help you walk away from this overbearing debt of yours… so no more Madame Irina's, I hope?"

"No, I suppose not. Thank you so very much for your generous assistance."

"You are very welcome." As if he's about to continue, he then stops and pauses. Apparently coming to a decision, he smiles and asks, "Would you be interested in having coffee with me now? I can play hooky from the office until one o'clock when I have a conference to attend."

I look at my cellphone—it's barely eleven. "I'd love to, but we better hurry if you have a conference at one. It doesn't give us too much time."

"In that case, let's go." He offers me his arm and gingerly I place my hand in the crook of his elbow. As we pass reception, Christian pauses midstride to speak to the young woman who's seated at the front desk, headset on.

The overly made up brunette looks up at him as we near her and she appears as agitated as I feel, so obviously I'm not the only one who reacts strongly to Mr. Grey. He nods at her in an imperious fashion and she breaks into nervous giggles, then stops as if reprimanded and sits up straighter.

"Alicia. Please tell Carson that I left but that I'll see him later in the day. Thank you."

"Yes, Mr. Grey. You're welcome. Always," she adds slyly.

He pretends not to hear her little flirt, and we're both quiet as we ride down the elevator. He smells so good—a fresh, clean scent—and standing so close to him is putting all sorts of dirty thoughts into my head. This is so unlike me! What is this Christian Grey person doing to my inner prude? Marshaling all my forces, I resist the urge to inch even closer to him, inhale deeply and go _mmmm_. Soon enough the elevator arrives on the ground floor and we make our way out of the red brick building.

The late morning sun is high, drying the remnants of last night's teeming rain. Sneaking another peek at the man next to me, it doesn't even surprise me to see that the unforgiving brightness does nothing to diminish his looks, not even a teeny, weeny bit. He walks with purpose, leading me to whatever destination he has in mind. As I gape up at him dreamily, he throws me a sidelong glance and I feel my automatic blush.

I'm rewarded with another of his small, enigmatic smiles as he asks, "You like coffee, don't you?"

"Yes, I love it. Why?"

"It's too late for breakfast and too early for lunch, hence we're going to a small pasticceria that conjures up the best lattes in town, not to mention croissants that would do a Parisian proud. Sound good?"

"Oh, yes, absolutely. I'm not too much of a breakfast eater, but I can manage a croissant."

"Yes, I can tell."

_What does he mean? That I look undernourished?_ _Or that I eat a lot of croissants?_ I let the comment slide by me, unacknowledged.

Before long, he turns us into a doorway. It's a charming little café with a green and white striped awning on the door. The logo is painted on the large picture window and it's called Two Labs Bistro, with the profile of two dogs' heads encircled by the title logo.

We're seated quickly and a waiter rushes over to take our order. "Good morning, folks. What would you like?

Christian orders for both of us. I appreciate the gesture since I'm very nervous in his presence and the less I have to do, the better.

"Tell me, Ana," he says once the waiter leaves, "what do you plan to do now that you've graduated? Will you stay in Seattle?"

"I'm not exactly sure. My educational background allows me to pursue two different career paths so I've sent out resumes for both kinds of job. Thus far I've lined up only two interviews."

"Oh? What careers?"

"I have a double major in English and digital arts… I've been seeking editing jobs as well as anything involving web design."

He nods. "You say you're unsure if you'll stay in Seattle. No ties holding you here? Friends? Boyfriend?"

Almost imperceptibly I shake my head. "Not currently. Technically I'm still married, I suppose."

_That_ gets him—his eyes fly up from his cup, shocked. "Married?"

"Didn't Mr. McEvoy tell you my story?"

"No, of course not. Attorney-client privilege. He merely told me he could help you."

"Oh. Well… it's sort of a convoluted saga."

He glances at his watch—it's a beautiful one and probably cost a couple of years' worth of my apartment rent. Or more.

"I think I might have enough time to hear at least the bare facts."

"Do you really want to know?"

His silvery eyes gleam. "I do."

Why would he possibly find my life of any interest? I cannot imagine but I owe it to him at the very least. I launch into the story but the waiter interrupts us with our order. I wait patiently as he places our respective coffees and the platter of warm croissants, and a bowl of butter and preserves. Mmm, it all smells so good.

After the waiter leaves, he prods me. "Please continue."

He sips his coffee and I'm momentarily distracted by his lips on the cup. I'd like to be that cup right about now. Stop it, Ana! I mentally shake myself.

I manage to get through the whole sorry tale quickly. He's focusing his attention on stirring his coffee but as I finish, his eyes swivel up. "That's quite a tale. Without knowing you very well, if at all, I can already say you're far too generous and kind, Ana. People like you tend to get into trouble." He wags a finger at me. "Always remember the adage, _The road to hell is paved with good intentions_."

"Yes," I add, "and don't forget, _No good deed goes unpunished_."

He laughs. "That, too, of course."

Feeling slightly more in control of myself, I decide to ask him a question. "So now you know all about me. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Why were you at Irina's? Your brother… _is_ he your brother?"

"Elliot? Yes, my half-brother."

"Yes, your brother told me he was helping out a friend and he dragged you with him."

"Yes. His friend had the misfortune for falling for a woman who works as an escort with Irina and he wanted us to accompany him for moral support. He's not one to frequent that kind of establishment."

"Ah. That was nice of you. I wondered why you were there."

He nods, his eyes cast down. "That's not the whole story, I'm afraid."

I say nothing, just wait patiently for him to continue but I'm not certain he will. A long minute drags by so I turn my attention to my coffee and, unable to resist, tear off a small piece of a croissant.

"Now come on. You're surely going to eat more than that shred of the croissant."

My face flushes with heat as the blood rushes in. "Yes, I…uh…like to pick. I'm sorry." I shove the shred in my mouth so I don't have to keep stammering idiocy. I know he's stalling because he doesn't want to reveal the rest of his story.

"You do realize that the information I divulge falls under the purview of the confidential disclosure agreement, don't you—regardless of the context?"

That bad, huh? I feel my heart rate accelerate in automatic response. "Of course. I cannot even conceive of a situation when I would disclose personal information about a friend or acquaintance, legal contract or not."

Nodding, he plunges ahead. "Until fairly recently, I was a regular client of Madame Irina's. I didn't avail myself of the escort service but rather of one of the specialties the house offers."

Instantly the memory of him standing watch while Minx was stretched out on that contraption streams through my brain. That _specialty_ is what he's referring to. Bitterly, I smirk at the euphemism.

"Nothing to say? What's the smile about, pray tell?"

The conversation is descending into a place I can't tolerate with someone I don't know well. My face is burning and suddenly I want to flee his company. "I…um…was just thinking how humorous some euphemisms are." At his lifted brow, I add, "Specialty? To describe that awful room?"

His face reflects a reaction I can't immediately identify: is it shame or anger? Perhaps not either, but I feel I should apologize anyway. He's been nothing but kind and gallant to me. "I'm sorry," I whisper quickly.

Those silver eyes penetrate right through any and all of my defenses. "Not at all—you're honest, and that's more than I can say for all the sycophants I'm surrounded with on a daily basis." He continues to study me. "I suppose it is awful for people—especially women—who don't understand it… or require it."

Frowning, I snap, "How can anyone _require_ it?" Too late I remember Minx and what she told me and I feel petty for the thoughtless remark.

A brief scowl descends over his expression and then he wipes it clean, his countenance entirely blank. "I'd rather not engage in this conversation, Ana." He angles his wrist and gives his watch another cursory glance. "As a matter of fact, I should be getting back to my office for the meeting." Gesturing with a chin thrust toward the basket of croissants, he says, "Please feel free to stay and finish your coffee. Again, it's been a complete pleasure."

He scrapes his chair back and stands. I rush to stand with him. "No, I'm finished, too. I'll walk out with you."

A fleeting smile and curt acknowledgement are all I get. He removes his wallet from a jacket breast pocket and throws down two twenties. "Shall we?"

Forty dollars for two coffees and a couple of croissants? That waiter is going to love him…if he doesn't already. I caught him eyeing my dark-haired beauty often enough. _No, not _your_ beauty, Ana, not yours at all_, I tell myself. In fact, if that wasn't an obvious brush-off he just dealt me, I don't know what is.

We step outside into the sunshine. I don't want to part on this awkward footing but I don't know what to do to salvage the situation. "Which way are you walking?" I ask, hoping I can stay with him a minute or two longer.

"I'm not, Ana. I'm going to take a cab so I'll say goodbye here."

"It's not yet twelve-fifteen. Couldn't you walk a block or two with me?"

"Actually, I think it prudent if I do not." He reaches for and grasps my hand. "Ana, I wouldn't want to mislead you in any way. I'm not in the market to develop any kind of relationship with a woman, especially one as innocent as yourself. I'm just glad I was around to assist you out of a difficult situation."

I can feel the storm gathering and I don't want him to see it. Any second now, tears will well up in my eyes and I'll start crying at his rejection. My only hope is to run—right now. As soon as the thought slides through my brain, I act on it. "I completely understand. Thank you so much for everything."

I do an about-face, horrified that I heard a quiver in my voice as I said goodbye. I begin walking as fast as my feet could take me in the stupid heels I'm wearing. I get about a third of a block when I feel him grab my arm and my momentum spins me around. God, I don't want him to see the tears streaming down my face. My makeup is probably all smeared right now, too. But there's no avoiding it, for I end up staring right into his handsome face, about two feet away from my ruined one.

Immediately his expression turns troubled. "I'm sorry, Ana. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I just…" He runs out of words apparently.

"It's fine, I'm fine. I just tend to be emotional when I get up before ten a.m. It's nothing that a long nap and a hot shower won't cure." I turn back around to make my escape. This time he lets me and I continue on uninterrupted, not stopping until I close my apartment door behind me. At that point, I allow myself to indulge in a good long cry. I don't even know what I'm weeping over. It's not as if we had any kind of relationship—not even a friendship. It's probably an accumulation of grief that I've been piling on my psyche ever since I received that phone call last month, now exacerbated by my snarky comment to Christian and his instant rebuke. I'll get over it.

I hope.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Again, thanks for your fun and insightful comments. A special thanks to Sabina Arabella for her excellent advice on legal matters—she's keeping me honest.

Chapter 5

It's been a quiet week. Other than going on one underwhelming interview for the lowliest of low-on-the-totem-pole graphic design positions at an online fashion magazine, there's nothing else on the horizon. Originally I had set up another interview for a junior editor job at a boutique publisher, but I cancelled it, deciding the pay was too low and the hours too long. Fortunately, my dad sent me a big check that will hold me over for the next few months, augmented by my part-time job's meager salary. Right now I can afford to be somewhat choosy.

I never do tell Kate about what happened to me with the phony debt scam, followed by the debacle at Irina's, and ending with Christian Grey's transient interest in and consequent kiss-off of me. For one thing, it hurt far too much and still does. For another, Kate would never let me hear the end of it, starting with lectures on my naiveté for falling for the scam, reprimands for my sheer idiocy for even considering employment with Irina, and ending, of course, by carping on my utter stupidity when dealing with the dashing business mogul.

Or maybe she'd just hug me, make me hot tea, and watch an old movie with me late into the night. Still, I won't take the chance.

As for my dark-haired beauty, it's over and done. I haven't heard a peep from him and I don't expect to. For the brief moment I knew him, however, he made a significant impression on me. I go to sleep thinking of him and wake up with him on my mind. It stands to reason I must dream about him but I never remember my dreams.

….

On the following Monday, two things happen. Our house phone rings at seven a.m. rousing me from a deep sleep. It's the supposed U.S. Attorney's office calling, probably to inquire after the payment schedule I was to arrange with the other fake lawyer and the debt-collection agency. When I don't answer, it rings again a couple of minutes later. Lo and behold, now it's the debt-collection agency calling. As soon as I see the name on the caller ID, I roll over and try to go back to sleep.

No chance. The bastards also wake up Lady Kate.

"Ana," a soft knock raps on my bedroom door, "did you go on a shopping spree or something? There's a debt-collection agency calling us."

I groan. "No, Kate, just ignore it. It's a bogus agency… I'll explain later but it's only seven," I whine the last words, hoping I'll annoy her enough to give up the game. It works. For now.

But I freaking can't go back to sleep because now that I'm awake, my thoughts follow a recently familiar and unwelcome pattern: Hans—debt collection—Irina's party—Christian Grey—heartache. Fucking heartache.

How could I possibly have developed feelings for him after knowing him for all of ten seconds? I give myself a good scolding: _listen here, Missy. It's your hormones ruling, not your heart. Get over it. Yes, he's handsome, charming, and important as all get out. Not to mention richer than many countries. Can you say "miles out of your league"?_

The second thing that happens is that a few hours later, I receive a text message—from Irina. Telling me that Kent will be calling me later today with my first assignment and listing all of the information I need to know about him.

Shit.

I never got around to telling Irina I was quitting before I even started. When I read to the end of the text, I see the amount of money I could expect from the assignment and my eyes nearly pop out of my skull: twenty-five-hundred dollars, of which I get to keep fifty-five percent! That means my share is nearly fourteen hundred dollars for a few hours of work. Not even work. Irina goes on to remind me that any extras must be reported to her for further splits although jewelry given as bonuses by happy clients may be kept as personal gifts. She writes that they still need to be listed on the follow-up sheet.

Now I'm faced with a dilemma: honor my obligation to Irina and go out with the kind, mannerly Kent, making a killing in the process… or honor my assurance—or was it a promise?—to Christian Grey and refuse any and all assignments from Irina. And not tell her why, since he asked me to keep it confidential.

Ugh. I don't know what to do so I do what I do when confronted with such a quandary. I go shopping.

I finally get up the nerve to call Irina, two pairs of Joe jeans—on major discount—and a pair of biker boots later. She answers on the first ring.

"Yes, Ana? I assume you received my message?"

"Irina, yes, I did. Um… Kent is a gentleman and based on the short interview we had, I like him so much—"

"But?" she interrupts, knowing a _but_ is coming.

"_But_… I found another way to deal with my unexpected debt and very recently reached the conclusion that I probably shouldn't work for you. I'm so sorry, Irina."

"No, I understand why you're reticent given the experience you had. But, Ana, you signed an employment contract with me containing a stipulation that you wouldn't renege until at least two assignments have been completed. The only exemption is serious illness and/or hospitalizaaton."

I say nothing, stunned into silence.

"Ana?"

"Yes, I'm here, Irina."

"Didn't you read the contract you signed, Ana?"

"Uh, yes, but I don't recall that stipulation."

"It's in paragraph 16, on the third page. Look, Ana, I like you and if I believed that you would suffer in any way from taking this assignment, I wouldn't force the issue. But Kent is a charming man, as you yourself noted, and I believe you'll enjoy yourself immensely on the date. What's more, Ana, is that if Kent finds you compatible, he will hire you for the rest of the year… and he is inundated with invitations, believe me—and all the right ones at that." She pauses to let her words sink in, I suppose. "That's an awful lot of money you're walking away from, dear."

"Okay, Irina. I'll do it, but once I honor the fulfillment of two assignments, I'm out."

"Let's talk again when that time comes. In the meantime, give Kent a call and he'll provide you with all the necessary details. Don't forget to fill out the sheet and scan and email it to me the next day."

"Yes, fine."

I hang up, my mind spinning with conflicting thoughts. On one hand, I have to admit I'm a little excited to go out with Kent. He has no expectations of anything other than my accompanying him and being a charming companion so it might just be fun. I'll get to wear expensive clothing, which I'm hoping I won't have to buy myself, but even if I do, Kate will think she died and went to heaven if I ask for her help. Of course then I'll have to come clean with her but I probably should do that anyway… just so she knows what I'm up to.

On the other hand, I made Christian Grey a sort of a promise. He helped me out of a horrible situation, and in return I assured him I would not work for Irina. But why would he possibly care what I do? Besides, he'll never find out—I seriously doubt that he and Kent travel in the same circles.

As soon as I think of Mr. C. Trevelyan Grey, I start to remember meeting him and how charming and handsome he was with the tuxedo and mask… and I feel such pangs of regret. They're so sharp, they're physical and for the umpteenth time, I wonder how I might have handled things differently. In the end, though, I console myself with my mother's little adage, _It is what it is. _Sighing, I scroll to Kent's message to write down the information.

…...

Saturday finally arrives, the night I'm to accompany Kent to a museum fundraiser dinner, followed by a silent auction. Earlier in the week, Kent had asked me for all my clothing and shoe sizes and on Friday afternoon, a Fed Ex delivery came for me. Inside the mammoth white box were the most gorgeous gown, a matching clutch purse, silk stockings and lingerie, and a pair of shoes to die for. I'm no clotheshorse but I instinctively knew that the ensemble must have cost thousands of dollars. I yelled for Kate before whooping with delight.

I had told Kate the whole sorry story shortly before I spoke with Kent. She surprised me with her reaction. I'd spewed the entire tale out without stopping nor allowing her to interrupt. When I finished, I took a deep breath and waited, guilty expression on my face, no doubt. Kate was sitting across from me in the kitchen and we were having coffee. She got up, came over to me, and then gave me a big hug.

"Oh, Ana, I'm so sorry you went through that alone. You should have told me. My dad's best friend is an eminent attorney and he could have easily helped you—he would have known it was fishy from the start. How do you suppose they targeted you anyway?

I shook my head. "Haven't got a clue. That's one of the things Mr. McEvoy is going to look into for me. He thinks it has more to do with Hans than me. Probably right.

Kate nodded, her eyes worried. "You'd better not do this again, Ana. I'm your friend, not your parent. I won't judge." She grinned. "I'll yell at you naturally but then we'll put our heads together and figure out what to do. Like now. What are you going to wear to this fancy shindig?"

"I don't know. I guess I'll either have to wear the gown I wore to Irina's party or borrow something from you."

The next day Kent called and told me he'd take care of my outfit and asked for all my sizes. So that settled that.

When Kate came running at my call, she examined my booty with excited eyes. "Ana, those shoes have a red sole. They're Louboutins! Fifteen hundred right there."

I picked up the stiletto heels in black satin. Sure enough, Kate got it right—she knows her designers. The gown had no label but everything else did and I wondered what was up with that. Kate closely examined the dress from every angle.

"Ana," she dragged out the two syllables of my name, "this is an original couture gown. Oh my God, it's gorgeous!"

It was, too. It's a black satin strapless gown. The waistline—if you could call it that—is just under the bustline but it slopes down lower in the back. The front of the gown is mostly tightfitting from bodice to floor but from the back of the lower waistline, it poofs out and the fabric is covered in sequins of the same color. It's like having two gowns in one and I rushed to try it on. Kent must have a very good eye for women's fashion.

"It fits you to a tee!" Kate exclaimed when it was on and I was twirling in it. "God, Ana, you look simply stunning, like a princess."

"I feel like a princess in this gown. I can't wait to put everything on together."

"Let's see what else he sent." She held up black satin panties.

"Well, they're skimpy but at least they're not a thong. I hate wearing thongs. It's like having a wedgie all day."

Kate laughed. "I guess it's because you don't need to worry about panty lines in this dress—at least not in the back. "No bra because there's a built-in one in the dress. Black silk thigh-high stockings. Oh, look, Ana, he included black satin garters to hold the stockings up if needed."

"Yes, he thought of everything… except jewelry. Hmm, what should I wear, Kate?"

She put her hands on her hips, thinking. "You know what? The only thing you should wear is one very simple but chunky bracelet. Nothing else. The gown is so beautiful, you don't want to detract from it. Maybe, if you had a diamond choker but you don't and I don't. The diamond necklace I have hangs too low to go well with the gown. Plus, you have a beautiful neck and collarbone, Ana. Kent probably noticed."

"Okay," I said, uncomfortable with compliments. "Will you help me do my makeup tomorrow?"

"Of course, sweetie. I'm so excited for you."

So here I am today. It's six p.m. and Kent is picking me up at seven. I'm sitting in my robe as Kate does my hair and makeup. By the time she's finished at 6:40, I don't recognize myself in the mirror. I angle my face back and forth. "Do you think so much eye makeup is necessary?"

She sighs with exasperation. "Yes, I do. You look like a top fashion model, Ana. Come on, let's put the gown on."

Taking one last look in the mirror, I decide I really like my hair this way. Kate used my natural wave and did the ends in big, loose curls—basically waves that spill down my back. I drop the robe, naked but for my black satin panties, and go to the bed to sit and put on my stockings. God, they feel so sensuous going up my leg. I decide here and now that I simply must wear this kind of stockings more often. They make me feel very feminine. "Do you think I'll need the garters?"

"Well, if he included them he must think so. Wear them—better safe than sorry." She reverently picks up the gown from the back of the chaise and helps me step into it. "Okay," she claps her hands, "put on the shoes and let's have a look."

My feet slip easily into the high heels and I stand there for her inspection.

"Bravo! You look magnificent. Let me grab my phone to snap a photo."

While she gets her phone, I stride to the floor-length mirror and almost stop dead in my tracks as I catch a glimpse of myself. Is that _me_? I look like someone else entirely. Kate put black eyeliner on me à la Audrey Hepburn. In fact, I sort of resemble the iconic actress.

Kate rushes in and snaps a few photos. "Perfect! Oh, and Kent's limo just pulled up outside. He's probably at the door, or his driver is. Let's go see."

I lunge for my purse and matching wrap—which was also included with the gown—and almost trip on the carpet. "Whoa. These heels should come up with a training manual."

Kate sniffs. "Serves you right for never dressing up unless fire is held to your feet." Opening the front door, I see her bestow a huge gorgeous-blonde smile on whoever is lucky enough to be behind it. "Well, hello, handsome. I'm Ana's friend Kate. Please come in."

A tuxedoed Kent steps through the doorway, smiling, but stops short when he catches sight of me. "Ana, wow. You look… wow, like Audrey Hepburn."

I chuckle. Kent steps closer to me and reaches into his pocket. "I see I got the measurements just perfect for the gown."

"Yes, perfect," Kate jumps in. "Who's the designer?"

Kent smiles slightly. "I am."

"You are?" Kate looks astonished. She steps back slightly, confusion reining on her face and then it lights up. "Not Kent Gable?"

"Yes, I am," he says, quietly modest. "Do you know my work?"

Kate's head bobs furiously. "Absolutely. I adore your designs. No wonder Ana looks so fantastic."

Kent looks toward me warmly. "She does, doesn't she? When I first saw her, I knew she'd wear my dresses quite well. Oh, I have one additional piece for you, Ana." He pulls his hand from his pocket and he's holding a long box that he hands to me. "I thought this piece would go nicely with the dress."

Carefully opening the elegant box, I gasp when I see its contents: a diamond choker! It is breathtaking in its brilliance. It's thin but studded with diamonds, the clarity of which is amazing and these aren't mere chips but diamonds of considerable size and weight. I cannot even begin to guess the value of the necklace and I'm afraid to wear it.

"Here. Allow me," he says reaching for the choker and lifting my hair over my shoulder, proceeds to clasp it onto me. Again, it fits perfectly and looks spectacular with the dress. Kent looks at Kate. "It's been a real pleasure to meet you, Kate. Are you ready to go, Ana?"

"Yes, I am." He holds out his arm and I slip my hand through and off we go.

The dinner is being held in the museum itself and the room has been turned into a fairyland of pinpoint lights and greenery. _As You Like It_ is the theme so the huge marble and glass room has been turned into a magical forest. We are escorted as soon as we exit the limo and all along the red carpet and into the building, Kent is greeted by everyone we pass along the way. He is so very charming and attentive to me and despite being sickeningly nervous, I am also having fun. I feel like someone else tonight—someone with an exciting life.

Once inside, we are given our seat numbers and a waiter comes over with a tray bearing flutes of champagne. Kent plucks two off and hands me one.

"Thank you, sir. I think I need fortification."

"Nervous, Ana?"

"Yes, exceedingly so. You're a complete pro at this type of thing, aren't you?"

He laughs gently. "I've been doing it for a long time now. I still, however, can remember how terrifying it was in the beginning. You'll get used to it soon. The champagne will help."

"Thank you, Kent, for everything. This has to be one of the most exciting nights of my life."

He shakes his head slightly. "Ana, what a terrifically nice thing to say to me. Thank you for that and you are most welcome." He looks around the room. "Shall we mingle a bit before we find our table?"

"Oh, yes." I put my hand on his arm and he walks us into the crowd. Many people approach us to speak with him as we pass so it takes quite a long time to move just a few paces. I'm introduced to about thirty people in about a half an hour. God, I hope I don't have to remember anyone's name. I should mention it to Kent. I nudge him delicately during a brief lull in conversation and he puts his ear close to my mouth. "Will you inform me if I'm meeting someone whose name I must remember?"

"Of course, Ana. So far it's not necessary."

"Good," I utter moments before a new stream of overdressed people bombard Kent with faux hugs and hellos. My face already hurts from constantly smiling so I indulge in a brief unsmiling moment to glance around the sparkling room, admiring all the beautiful people milling about. I'm just about to turn back to Kent when my eyes are caught—and transfixed—by a pair of piercing silver ones across the floor. My mouth drops open and I quickly close it. Fuck!

Christian Grey.

…..

Here. Now. I shift my eyes back to Kent, feeling _his _eyes follow my every move.

Utterly gorgeous he looks, in his tuxedo—a different one than last time. This one is more fitted to his body and has narrow lapels made of satin. Next to him in a shimmering emerald gown, is a tall, thin woman with raven hair. She's quite beautiful and I feel jealousy streak through me, burning hot in my blood. When I get home, I truly need to give myself a stern talking to… but not right now… because right now he's sauntering over to us, date in hand and a fake smile frozen on his face. I think I am sporting the exact same smile as I try to get myself together. Christian Grey arrives in front of us a nanosecond before another fawning group can descend on Kent.

"Mr. Gable?" comes his smooth, deep voice, his social veneer intact. "Hello, I'm Christian Grey. My sister simply wouldn't forgive me if I didn't introduce her to you. This is Mia Grey, my sister and a devotee of your work."

Kent smiles broadly and shakes the woman's hand. His sister? Well, I'm ashamed how much happier I feel now. Kent turns to me. "This is Ana Steele, my companion for the evening. Ana, please meet Christian and Mia Grey."

I extend my hand and I know it's got to be a bit clammy and shaky. He grasps it, and squeezes, all the while training those penetrating eyes of his on me.

"A pleasure, Ms. Steele. You look quite familiar. Have we met?"

Oh, so he's going to play that game? That's so not fair of him since I suck at lying. "Yes, I do believe we met at a party, Mr. Grey. However, it's very nice to see you again."

"Likewise. Do you recall the party wherein we met? I cannot seem to remember precisely."

"I'm uncertain but I do remember your face and name." I stop smiling and swivel my attention back to Kent. He's playing with fire and I don't intend to get burned. I refuse to make Kent feel foolish when he's such a good man and Christian has absolutely no claim on me. He never said his help had any strings attached.

I'm saved by an unlikely source, namely his sister Mia. She's enthusing about Kent's designs and he points out my gown. Mia runs her hand down the side of my leg and then giggles.

"Oops, I didn't mean to be fresh. It's just that the fabric is irresistibly tantalizing."

Laughing, I agree. "Yes, I couldn't stop touching it when I first received it. The dress is exceptionally pretty, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, Ana, and it looks fantastic on you," Mia gushes. I like her already but her brother is glowering at both of us. I find I don't care except to the extent that Kent might be bothered. What's his problem anyway? He's the one who walked away from me.

Soon we are asked to take our seats and fortunately, Christian isn't seated too close to us. All through dinner, five courses of it, I worry, the whole time trying my damnedest to present an untroubled façade for Kent. The problem returns after dinner, when the dance floor is opened and Christian approaches me while Kent is deep in conversation with another man.

"May I have the pleasure of a dance?"

Oh, no, what do I do? I'm on a date with Kent. I can't leave him to dance with another man. But how can I say no? I look helplessly to Kent to see if he notices. He does.

"Please, Ana, feel free to enjoy yourself. I'm afraid I'm not much of a dancing man myself."

"In that case, I'll stay here with you." I turn to Christian. "Thank you for the invitation but—"

Kent breaks in. "Really, Ana, I insist. Dance with the poor man. I have the prettiest woman in the room. It's my obligation to share."

I stare at Kent, perplexed, and then back at Christian. He's tilting his head, studying me, his hand outstretched, patiently waiting for mine. I place my hand in his, feeling a charge race up my arm at the contact, and he pulls me to my feet.

"Excuse me," I murmur to Kent and allow Christian to lead me onto the dance floor, wobbly legs and all. When we get there, I let him have it in a low voice, plastering a happy look on my face. "What do you think you're doing?"

He rears back at the tone of my voice, obviously not expecting it. "I think I'm dancing. Am I that bad at it?"

"Very funny, Mr. Grey. I'm here on a date with Kent and you're intruding."

The look on his face is priceless—he looks genuinely surprised that I would dare…

"Intruding? I merely asked you to dance. But since we're being critical," his voice drops into a growl, all social veneer gone, "allow me to point out the fact that you promised me you would retire from Madame Irina's employ once I assisted you out of your debt obligation. Yet… here you are." His eyes were molten.

"What possible difference can it make to you?" I hiss. "For your information, I was obligated contractually to a minimum of two assignment completions. Besides, Kent is a nice man who expects nothing but my company."

"Be that as it may, you promised."

"I _assured_, not _promised_. However, I was unaware of that particular stipulation at the time. I guess contract analysis is not my strong suit."

"Then perhaps you might stop signing them," he spits out between gritted teeth.

Why is he so angry? His eyes are nearly sparking and a vein in his neck is pulsing visibly. I compose myself, shrugging off the outrage his behavior inspired. "Mr. Grey, I signed the contract before I even met you. Besides, I fail to see how any of this concerns you. I was unaware that your kind and generous assistance in my legal matter came with strings attached. However, since it appears that it did, I will be happy to reimburse you for whatever monies were spent on Mr. McEvoy's time and effort."

He says nothing but I can actually see him reining in his ire. He inhales deeply and his face goes blank. It's actually impressive how quickly he manages it. Meanwhile, he continues to lead me flawlessly on the dance floor. Hmm, a man who can multitask—will wonders never cease?

While this is happening, I stop to smell the roses… or should I say Christian Grey. Why does he smell so damn good? A minute goes by and he smiles down at me—a full wattage smile that I can't resist so I return it. "I think I should probably get back to Kent," I say, as the song begins to wind down.

Christian peers over my head toward the table where Kent is still seated. "He's otherwise engaged so it's fine for now."

Narrowing my eyes I ask him what that's supposed to mean.

"You do realize your companion is gay, right, Ana?"

"Yes, of course."

"The man he's conversing with is his partner." He pauses. "Allow me to be clear: that is Jared Parks, a publicist and Kent's significant other. Why he thinks no one knows that is beyond comprehension."

"Oh. Yes, especially for a fashion designer, being gay is almost expected."

"Well, maybe he does it for his parents' comfort."

"Perhaps. Still, I should get back to him soon."

"And you will. But first, you and I are going to have a nice chat. Come."

As the first notes of the song _You Go to My Head_ begin playing, he leads me off the dance floor. Holding his hand again is so amazing that my heart begins to trip over, my knees go weak, and I begin to wonder exactly what I feel for this man. I've never felt like this before… ever.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Leading me to a velvet-upholstered bench, he gestures for me to be seated. Frenzied butterflies invade my stomach but I'm glad to get off my feet again. Walking in stilts requires training, concentration, and toned muscles—none of which I currently possess.

"So, Ana, might I assume you will satisfy your two-date minimum and then retire from the escort profession?"

I nod. "That's what I told Irina. She, however, informed me that if Kent appreciates my company, he will likely hire me long-term and she asked that I refrain from deciding until such time as I fulfill my contractual obligation."

I watch as he scowls and shakes his head.

"Christian… uh, Mr. Grey… I'm not even sure what I should call you…"

"Either is fine, though I'm usually on formal terms with everyone but my family and very close friends."

"I suppose I'm not a close friend, though fate keeps thrusting us in each other's company—and in rather intimate settings at that." I smile.

"Indeed. You were saying?"

"Yes, I was saying that regardless of what I do… and I'm uncertain at this time…if I continue with this job of sorts, it will be exclusively with Kent and we both know he won't try to rape me like that monster."

"True. By the way, that monster had to leave town rather precipitously."

"Oh?"

"Yes. It turns out he was in a witness protection program after turning state's evidence against his former drug-dealing partner. Somehow his old partner got wind of his new name and location and our pal Michael had to flee from ugly retribution. Drug dealers are not known for their forgiveness or mercy."

His eyes are sparkling with mischief so I know he was behind it and I can't bring myself to care. The horrid man deserves everything he gets. I straighten my shoulders. "That's welcome news, actually. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Now, back to the subject at hand: I would prefer you not pursue this line of work, Ana."

"If I'm to call you Mr. Grey, don't you think it's only fair that you address me the same way?"

"If you wish, though the name of Mr. Grey does not suit you in the least bit."

Now he's grinning broadly, simply delighted with himself and I can't help but laugh at his silliness. "As I was saying…" I continue, "…before being so rudely interrupted by an upstart comedian, that I cannot for the life of me comprehend why you would care one way or the other if I continue with Kent. Might you enlighten me?"

That left brow rises again, his expression sardonic. "Do you think you might guess as to the reason, _Ms. Steele_?"

I know I'm blushing for I feel my cheeks tingling. How shall I answer him? If he is truly interested in me, surely he wouldn't have banished me last week. "No," I say raising my chin in defiance, "I haven't a clue and I need to get back to Kent."

I rise to my feet and he stands quickly, grasping my hand and holding me back.

"Ana, look at me."

I reluctantly turn up my eyes and when I see his smoldering gaze, things happen—legs go weak, butterflies flutter maniacally, some things get wet, others go dry. It's like he flipped a switch.

"The explanation is very simple: I've never been very good at sharing—my toys, my friends, my… well, you get the picture."

He's jealous? How can that be when a.) he barely knows me and b.) he left me flat the day we had coffee and I offended him? He has women falling all over him—women way more beautiful and important than I. Why would he possibly be jealous of me—dating a gay man no less? It's absurd. But I can't deny the warm feeling that surges through me at the idea that he gives a damn enough to care.

"What thoughts are running through that quicksilver mind of yours, Ana? The suspense is killing me." His tone sounds slightly agitated yet those eyes! Those eyes positively shine with intrigue.

I try to hang onto my annoyance with him but it's difficult to do in the face of his incredible charm. "My first thought was confusion over your rationale. But right now I'm thinking that you're trying your level best to ruin my date with Kent so he doesn't ask me out again. Am I in the ball park?"

"No, you're not even in left field. If you're fond of baseball metaphors, I'll give you another one: I don't like the idea of another man getting to third-base with you. Or even first-base. Is that clear enough?"

My mouth drops open. Stays open. I can't believe he just said that.

"Oh, be careful, Ms. Steele. A beautiful woman like yourself leaving her mouth open and unprotected? A ne'er-do-well man might well try to put all manner of things into it."

I squeak… I actually squeak because my voice fails me. Clearing my throat, I ask, "Are you referring to yourself as a ne'er-do-well?"

Flashing a wicked smile, he says, "I'm no Boy Scout… except to the extent that I'm always prepared." He winks and my legs turn to jelly.

"There you are," comes Kent's cheerful voice as he strides up to me. "Mr. Grey, I see you absconded with my fair lady."

Christian bows in an exaggerated fashion. "Guilty as charged. My humblest apologies, sir, but in my defense, she is a most fascinating woman."

Kent offers him a friendly smile. "I couldn't agree more. Ana?"

I rush to his side and take his arm, feeling uncomfortable doing so under Christian Grey's scrutiny. I shoot a shy glance back at my dark-haired beauty. "Mr. Grey. As always, it's been a pleasure."

Swiftly, he grasps my free hand and lifts it to his lips, brushing a kiss on my fingertips. "The pleasure, as they say, was all mine. I'll be in touch." He tips an imaginary hat to me, nods at Kent, and turns and strolls away, probably in search of his wayward sister.

I don't see Christian Grey for the rest of the evening. Shortly after Kent came looking for me, the silent auction begins. It is tremendously exciting and fun—Kent even lets me bid on something he's interested in acquiring and I win! Of course, it costs him almost nine thousand dollars but he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he appears delighted with the score. Right after the auctioneer pronounces me the winner, I see the man, Jared Parks, who Christian claimed was Kent's lover, turn around from several tables up and smile slyly at Kent. Apparently they'd agreed beforehand to purchase the small sculpture. I feel a pang of affection for Kent and guilty that I'm sitting next to him instead of Jared taking his rightful place. The world can be so screwed up sometimes.

When the auction is over, I turn to Kent. "I had the best time ever, Kent. Thank you a million times over for sharing this evening with me. You are the epitome of what a successful man should be, in every way."

"Thank you, Ana. You say the kindest things to me. I very much enjoyed your company tonight and would love to escort you again… though I'm not sure if Mr. Grey is going to allow that for long."

Flushing, I shake my head in dismissal. "Mr. Grey has no claim on me, Kent."

He smiles. "That, perhaps, may change soon. But we'll see. In the interim, I plan to dress you in as many of my creations as possible. Your proportions are perfect for my design aesthetics and yours is a classic beauty. We'll have fun together."

"Yes." I smile sincerely. "Honestly, if it weren't for you, I would not have accepted any assignment from Irina. You were like a breath of fresh air at that party. You and... um…" I almost slip and say Mr. Grey, but I catch myself just in time.

As I insert my key into the front door of our condo, I hear the television blaring, then Dante, Kate's golden doodle, starts barking, alerting her to my homecoming. The TV goes silent and by the time I get the door open, she's already in my face.

"Well?" Kate demands. "How was it?"

I try for my most blasé. "Okay, I guess."

"Ana!"

"It was fantastic!" I scream, nearly at the top of my lungs and we both laugh.

Grinning broadly, Kate shakes her head. "Our neighbors are going to hate us… if they don't already."

"Speaking of which, are you going deaf? I could hear the television from the parking lot."

"Oh, I was screaming at a football game." She stomped her foot. "So frustrating that they can't hear me."

Chuckling, we step over to the couch and Kate backs into it, curling her leg under her as she sits. "So, tell me."

I look at her affectionately. Even in old yoga pants, a cropped t-shirt, and her hair piled sloppily on her head, she looks glamorous. Kate is just a gorgeous woman and I always wished I had her look. Still, despite being rich and beautiful, she's always been a kind and generous friend, and tonight she demonstrates it by sharing my excitement vicariously.

"Kent is a genuine, dyed-in-the-wool sweetheart of a man. I think he may have my undying devotion at this point. He already told me he wants to put me in as many of his creations as he can because I—"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she interrupts. "_As he can_? Why can't he put you in as many as he _wants_?"

Damn. Trust Kate to cut right to the bloody heart of the matter. When there are secrets to uncover, Kate Kavanagh is like a talented surgeon wielding a deadly but delicate scalpel. "Um, because he thinks Christian Grey won't allow me to date him." I rush to spit it out, then I quickly cover my ears as she just about roars with indignation.

"What?" she bellows. "What does Christian Grey have to do with anything? He rejected you, didn't he? Just because he's rich and influential doesn't mean he can do whatever the fuck he wants, Ana."

"I know, I know. It's just that he was at the fundraiser… and when he saw me and realized why I was there, he was a tad miffed." I smile, attempting to ingratiate myself with her so she'll stop chastising me. No such luck.

"Too bad for Christian Grey. He has no claim on you, Ana. Can he spell free agent? I swear, men like him think everyone must kowtow to them or the planet will stop spinning."

"Does the planet spin? I thought it revolved?"

Narrowing her eyes, she steps closer to me and wags her finger. "Don't change the subject. Listen up, Missy. You do not let Mr. Grey hold sway over you. You enjoy yourself with Kent and if Grey doesn't like it, tough noogies. Just because he did you a good turn doesn't mean he owns you, and you cannot allow him to believe he does."

"No, I agree with you. I even offered to reimburse him for the cost of McEvoy's time in helping me."

"Good girl! Ana, there's hope for you yet. What did he say to that?"

He basically ignored it. He told me he's jealous."

She gasps. "He told you that? Oh, Ana, he's got it bad for you. Imagine that—my little Ana hooking such a big fish… a rich and absurdly handsome fish. May I be maid of honor? I have the perfect gown for the role."

I begin to walk to my bedroom so I can change out of my finery. "Do you think you might be jumping the gun just a teeny weeny bit?"

Sniffing in disdain, she shrugs her shoulders. "I doubt it. Anyway… anything else to tell me?"

She follows me into my bedroom, helping me unzip the gown. "Yes, as a matter of fact. Kent let me win an auction for something he wanted to buy. It was a blast. And I met his boyfriend… or so Christian claims is Kent's boyfriend. He's very nice."

"Awkward, no?"

I step out of the gown and finally begin to get out of the prison of my stilettos. I think my feet are broken beyond repair. "Slightly," I say, huffing to pull the second shoe off. My feet have swollen a bit since I put them on so they don't come off as easily as they went on. When it's off, I breathe a sigh of relief. "Ah. Yes, it was a bit awkward…only because I felt Jared should be in his rightful place beside Kent. But it's their decision and who am I to question it?"

"True. Want some tea?"

"I'd love some. What about ice cream?"

Brows knitted together, she snaps, "What about it?"

"Sheesh, Kate, so defensive. I was just asking if we have any?"

"Sorry," she says sheepishly. "It's just that I hate a whole container of Haagen-Dazs and I'm feeling guilty. Dulce de leche," she adds, as if in justification.

"Ah, yes, well, who could blame you?"

Her face visibly brightens. "Yes, who could? I'm going to make us some tea."

The next day a package arrives for me in the late afternoon as I'm filling out the follow-up sheet for Irina. I've already spoken with her as she phoned me first thing in the morning. Why do so many people get up so freaking early? Everyone I know likes to sleep late if it's at all possible.

It's a long and deep brown box tied with string, like an old-fashioned gift. The return address is a PO Box so there's no way to tell whom it's from. I open it cautiously and pink tissue paper covers what's inside. Ferreting through it, I discover a beautiful champagne-colored negligee underneath. Taking it out of the box to hold up in front of me, a small card drops to the floor. I stretch my arm, snatch it, and rip the envelope, impatient now. In bold black print it says, _Kent's not the only one who can dress you, you know. Here's what I'd like to see on you—with no other accessories but your smile. C. Grey._

I suck in so much air I almost choke. Damn. Just those few words on the little ivory card are enough to make my legs go weak. Instantly an image of me in the gown, alone in a room with Christian, pops into my head and I feel an instant physical response. Squeezing my legs together, it dawns on me that this virginity crap is getting old. I think I would love to hand it over to Mr. Grey, providing he doesn't just accept it and then walk away. Would he do that? I wonder.

Oh, the thought of making love with him is beyond erotic. He's so beautiful in clothes—I can just imagine him without. All those tight muscles and toned flesh; I bet he has serious abs, too. Mmm. For perhaps the first time in my life, my libido is revving hot. I mean, it's not the first time I've ever lusted after a man—or boy… but it is the first time I've ever felt such an overwhelming response, both physical and emotional, to one. And it's the first time I seriously entertain the notion of doing it, to the point where I'm actually considering where would be the best place. Here? Or at a hotel or his place? Where does he even live? I snort in derision at my impetuousness—I know less than nothing about the man and here I want to jump in bed with him.

But I do. I really do.

The rest of the month passes uneventfully. I don't hear from Christian Grey nor does Irina contact me with any new assignments. I hunker down and get serious about finding a job, trying to distract myself from thinking about Grey. If I pretend I don't care that he hasn't contacted me in almost two weeks, then I don't care. It's as simple as that. Except it doesn't work. I like him too much and I desperately want to see him again.

On Thursday, Irina calls me.

"Hi Ana, How are you?"

"Fine, thanks," I answer suspiciously. I know Irina's not calling just to say hello.

"Ana, I have another assignment for you."

"With Kent?" I ask hopefully.

"No, with another gentleman. A Mr. Henry Chinaski."

"Henry…?"

"Chinaski. Do you recall meeting him?"

"Not at all, and Irina, I'm not comfortable taking any assignment apart from Kent's."

"Ana, dear, of course it's your choice, but allow me to give you a bit more information. Mr. Chinaski understands your limitations and is perfectly willing to accept them. Further, I can personally vouch for his integrity—I've known him for several years. And, Ana, he's very handsome—trust me on that. You won't regret it."

"Irina, I really don't think I want to keep continuing on this path. If I take this last one, will you allow me to just see Kent and not even present other possibilities to me?"

Her heavy sigh transmits clear as a bell through the phone. "If I must, then yes. I'll text you the information. It's a bit of an unusual assignment, I will warn you."

"Unusual? How so?"

"You'll see. Just read the text. Goodbye for now, Ana… and don't forget to submit the follow-up sheet."

She disconnects and I end up staring at my phone, trying to make sense of what she just said. Henry Chinaski, huh? Strange sort of name but for some odd reason, it sounds sort of familiar. My daydreaming is slashed into by the sudden chime of my phone alerting me to a text message—from Irina. I decide to read it later because I don't want to fret over anything right now. I decide instead to go for a run. I change my clothes, grab Dante's leash and he comes running excitedly, and we leave the apartment.

When Dante and I return from our run, I jump into the shower and then take a nap—God, I can get used to not doing anything with my life. It's very relaxing. Finally, I read the message from Irina. She provides me with the date (Saturday), the time (7 p.m.), what to wear (casual) and where he'll be taking me—the thing she said was surprising. Surprising? I read it three times in disbelief. His parents' house?

Why would anyone take a paid escort to his parents' home? Isn't that insane… so by following that logic, isn't he insane? I pad in bare feet to the kitchen to cop a generous glass of vino to think about this situation.

Okay, maybe he's gay and he doesn't want his parents to know? Or… maybe he's over thirty and has the kind of parents who torture him about getting married and having kids soon, guilting him out about having grandchildren before they die? My reasoning along with copious amounts of Merlot calm me down. Yes, that must be it.

So what do I wear that's dressy enough for parents but low-key enough to feel comfortable in and satisfy his requirement of casual. Peering through my closet, I decide on a pair of my new Joe jeans, the biker boots—both scores from my recent shopping spree—and a white cashmere vee-neck sweater, courtesy of Kate's voluminous closet. When I try everything on, I decide the jeans make me look dumpy and the boots are too edgy for a family dinner.

Back to square one. If I pair the boots with navy stockings and my navy and Kelly green jumper, the boots will be more acceptable. I'll wear a white linen shirt with three-quarter sleeves under the jumper. To complete the whole schoolgirl look, I'll braid my hair and wear minimal makeup. Yes, sounds good.

But I don't end up wearing that either. On Saturday, at 6:00, I still have no clue what to wear, having discarded the whole schoolgirl look and instead going to my laptop to see if I can find any info on Mr. Henry Chinaski.

I enter the name into Google and take a bite of a blueberry muffin. When the information pops up on the screen, I nearly choke on my mouthful of muffin. Henry Chinaski is the ne'er-do-well narrator in Charles Bukowski's novels. That's why it was vaguely familiar to me. I'd read Bukowski my senior year of high school when the boy I was dating was enamored of him and forced me to share.

So. Who is this man I'm meeting really? Only one candidate springs to mind. I recall my conversation with Mr. Christian Grey, when he worried over ne'er-do-wells. It has to be him.

The thought that I'm seeing him tonight invigorates me. Will he really take me to meet his parents? What the hell should I wear? The quandary becomes ever more difficult in light of the new information.

I stick with the white linen shirt. I pair it with a pair of black trousers, tight enough to look good but not too tight for his parents' house. I wear a pair of black heels, mid-range heel, a chunky belt and a bright pink mohair sweater for a splash of color. When I'm all dressed, I look in the mirror and smile. I think I nailed it. Now for my makeup. It's ten of seven so I need to be quick about it. I dab on a bit of foundation, raspberry-tinted lip gloss, black eyeliner and a titch of mascara. Done.

The doorbell rings at seven o'clock precisely. My heart is drumming in my chest, slamming into my ribcage or something hard. I open the door.

It's not Christian.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Ah, Truefeathers77, I missed the opportunity to say mouths have teeth! Love it. Though Ana is a bit overwhelmed by the man to be too witty with him. As for the diamond necklace, you caught me again. There was to be a paragraph about it and it was missed. That will have to be added into a previous chapter to make it right. Thanks for the observation. Now, for the rest of you: please don't hate me. The cliffhangers are not intentional; it's just that I need somewhere to break it off. If it's any consolation, I've been updating this story at the expense of my others. I'm a literature professor, by the way, and the new semester has begun. You guys will have to be patient with me.

Chapter 7

Crestfallen. That's the word to describe how I feel but how I mustn't appear to my date for the evening. God, I was _so_ looking forward to being with Christian again. The man standing in front of me is so muscle-bound, he's practically missing a neck. His sandy hair is cut super short—a buzz cut—and he wears dark clothing. It's not as if he can ever be inconspicuous, though. Everything about the man screams _Watch it!_ He's not bad looking, though, not bad at all. Irina said he was handsome and so he is. If I had to describe him in one word, I know just what it would be: masculine.

"Hello. I'm looking for Miss Steele? Ana Steele?"

"Yes, that's me. Henry, I presume?"

He looks baffled.

"Er, no. I'm Mr. uh, _Henry's_ driver, among other things. He awaits you in the car."

I crane my neck to see over his shoulder. There's a sleek black Mercedes waiting in front. "Among other things?" I can't resist pumping him for information.

He shrugs apologetically. "Jack of all trades."

"Master of none?"

"Oh, well, I've mastered a few."

I give him my patented girl-next-door smile. "Well, as long as those few don't include ace serial killer, I'm okay with it. I just need to grab my purse."

I close the door on him, run to the kitchen and leave a note on the table for Kate. I don't feel too nervous because Irina vouched for the safety of this client and I still suspect—I let myself hope again—it's Christian Grey. It would be so like him to take up my second date so my commitment to Irina is satisfied plus he gets to yell at me for going out with a stranger. Win-win for him. I pull a chunk of my long hair out of the collar of my fuchsia sweater where it's caught, and exit the condo. The hot bodyguard is waiting patiently for me outside. "What did you say your name is?"

"I didn't." He offers me a toothy grin—nice teeth, too. "I'm Jason. Jason Taylor, at your service."

I give him a _nice to meet you_ and follow him to the car. He opens the rear door and I bend to get in—and that's when I see him. Henry Chinaski is indeed Christian Grey and right now his eyes are fiery with emotion. Could be fury or it could be passion. My only problem is… I can't tell which one.

"Hi," I say shyly, testing the waters.

Grasping my hand and bringing it to his luscious lips, he drops a butterfly-soft kiss on my fingers… but says nothing.

I begin to squirm as his silence grows longer. "Um, I think I said hello?"

"Hello, Ms. Steele. How are you this fine evening?"

"I'm well. And yourself?"

"I'm feeling a tad out of sorts."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Are you?" He offers me the barest of smiles. "You see, I have a _friend_ who continually disregards my sound advice on how to keep herself safe. I'm wondering now if she harbors disdain for my opinion or perhaps she's plagued by some kind of mental deficiency that makes it impossible for her to recognize dangerous situations."

Ooh, now he's down to calling me dumb? _I don't think so_. I shore up my spine and my chin rises into the clouds. "Oh? Well perhaps it's neither. Perhaps your _friend_… assuming that's what she is… believes your caution to be misplaced. Moreover, she might have known Henry Chinaski's true identity all along and so never had cause to worry."

He turns his head to look at me. Boy, is he ever gorgeous. I think I could gaze into those soulful eyes all day long: they mesmerize me. His voice, petal soft, breaks through my swoon. "And how exactly do you know, Ms. Steele, that you do not have cause to worry about danger from _me_?"

His question brings me up short—I have no smug answer for that one. None. Mainly because I'm operating on instinct. Well, instinct and reputation—my instinct and his reputation.… and those, I suppose, don't necessarily preclude him from doing something awful to me. No, he's got me there.

Seeing my conclusion on my face, no doubt, he smiles slightly and, still holding my hand, he caresses it gently with his thumb. "Did you recognize the name?"

"Not immediately though it was instantly familiar. Ultimately, I had to look it up."

"Have you ever read Bukowski?"

"In high school."

Releasing my hand, he bends toward me and secures my seatbelt—something I actually forgot to do. I seem to forget a lot when I'm near him. "You know, Ana, I think I could grow to like restraining you."

Oh, God. From his lips to my girly parts. I feel a rush of heat pool in my lower regions as my fevered brain conjures an image of me tied to those crossbars with Christian whipping my naked body. Why is that idea suddenly erotic instead of only scary? He notices my reaction, I think, for he leans in closer. "Kiss me, Ana."

I inch closer to him and close my eyes to kiss him. His lips are soft, his tongue insistent, and when I part my lips he invades… but gently. Oh, the man can kiss. I'm overwhelmed by him: every one of my senses is engaged. I smell his alluring scent; I taste his sweet, warm mouth; I hear his deep breaths, causing my own to grow deeper, but most of all, I _feel_ him— his mouth, his touch, his intense, unbelievable heat. It's rising off his skin in waves like hot sand on a blistering day at the beach. As I'm about to break away to try to keep my wits from scrambling, his hand reaches behind my head and holds me in place while his tongue plunders my mouth. If I died right now, I'd go out happy.

When he finally ends the kiss sometime the following week—or so it feels—I study the perfect planes of his face. My heart sinks as I'm forced to accept the inevitability of my falling in love with Christian Grey. I also realize the kiss has changed, _escalated,_ the tenor of our relationship and I need to know more about him.

There's one big question mark—at least on my end. He may have his own concerns about me. For my peace of mind, though, I want desperately to ask him about the leathersex room and his compulsion to partake of it… but Jason Taylor can hear every word we say, first of all. Second, the last time we barely grazed the subject and he took offense. Granted, I said it was reprehensible behavior or some such judgmental remark. How could he not take exception?

Since then I've done some research on BDSM and I've learned quite a bit. At the end of the day, it's just kinky sex and as long as it's consensual and no one gets seriously harmed, then there should be no issue. I regret passing judgment on Christian and I want to tell him so. I also want him to explain it to me. Now's not the best time, however. I wonder if we'll have any time alone tonight—if wishing would make it so, then indeed we would.

I feel bold enough to lean my face against his shoulder. I instantly feel him tense so I lift my head. "Is this okay?"

He offers me a sidelong glance, a gentle nod. The car is peacefully quiet.

"Are you really taking me to your parents' house?" I ask after a few minutes.

"Yes."

"Why?"

He's gazing out the window, his chin on his fist, and he sighs. "My family can be irritating at times. Though they've seen countless photos of me with a woman on my arm, it's not enough to appease them. Since I've never brought anyone home with me—well, it both frustrates and annoys them. Especially Elliot, who does not have a discriminating bone in his body and cannot comprehend anyone who does. I do believe he's fucked every female in Seattle north of eighteen and south of seventy."

I gasp at his crude language since I'd yet to hear any from his delectable mouth.

He grins. "Sorry, Ana. You see? My family brings out the worst in me."

"Do you like them?"

He looks at me strangely. "I love them. Very much so, especially my mother."

"Oh? I remember Elliot telling me you two were half-brothers."

"Yes."

He doesn't say any more by way of explanation and I don't push. In his own good time, he'll tell me, and I don't want to be pushy. Meantime, I'm planning on enjoying Christian tonight and who knows? I might end up really enjoying him. I feel ready and he's the one I want.

About twenty minutes later, the Mercedes swings into the open entrance of a gated estate. The area is incredibly beautiful and I look around the property, as much as possible from the car window. So Christian Grey grew up privileged. He's probably never known a moment of adversity in his entire life. Not that I'm in a position to complain. Sure, I've missed a few meals when I overspent my allowance or my school loan money was late in arriving… but basically I've had my every need seen to—just not on a level like this.

The approach to the house is extensive and looks like park grounds. When the house comes into view, I gasp. I had thought Irina's house impressive but this one is beyond even her villa. It appears to be a sprawling Georgian manor house, with a red-brick façade, shuttered windows (with real shutters that close up the window from heat and cold), a massive front door with an impressive blue slate staircase and entryway. The antique glass in the windows sparkle in the last vestiges of sunlight slanting toward the house.

Panic hijacks my body: my hands start to sweat and the rest of me feels chilled. "Who am I meeting tonight?"

He looks surprised by my question. "My parents. You've already met my brother and sister."

"No one else?"

He shakes his head. "I have a younger brother but he's away at boarding school so he won't be with us tonight."

"What's his name?"

"Zander."

"As in—"

"Alexander."

"How old is he?"

He rubs his eyebrow. I think it may be a nervous habit of his. "Sixteen, I think. Yes, sixteen." His eyes shift to mine as the car turns into the circular drive and rolls to a stop in front of the entrance. "Ready?"

I bob my head. For someone who likes to talk, I suddenly have nothing to say.

Once we exit the car, he holds me at arm's length and assesses me, head to toe. "You look very nice, Ana. You nailed the casual yet dressy requirement rather unerringly. Good job." He grins devilishly, a dimple emerging on one side of his face, "I must say you look good in pink."

Why is that funny, I think? Does he mean when I blush I look good? Or that he likes to make me blush? What else could be pink? With him, I always feel as if he's having fun at my expense but I'm operating in the dark. Oh well, I guess that's what they mean when they say ignorance is bliss. I put it out of my mind to concentrate on my terror.

We stand in front of the darkly gleaming mahogany doors. Through the sidelights, I can see warm Persian rugs and candlelight. Christian rings the bell and almost immediately the doors are opened by a woman dressed in black. I'm grateful for the quick response so I don't have time to angst over it. I try to remind myself that I'm his paid escort—not his girlfriend. But it feels as if we're dating and I'm meeting his parents for the first time.

"Master Christian. How very nice to see you again."

Christian smiles. "Thank you, Babette. This is my date, Ana Steele. Ana, Babette is a longtime family friend and employee."

I extend my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Babette. I love your name."

"Oh, thank you, my dear, and the pleasure is mine. Please come in."

She steps aside to allow us entry. Christian leads me through the entrance foyer into a large, sumptuously appointed room. It's done in light blues, beiges, and browns and, though beautiful, every piece of furniture seems to be chosen for comfort first, and aesthetics second. Standing in front of a lively fire in the prominent brick hearth is a tall man—superior build, dark hair but for salt and pepper at his temples, and a drink in his hand. He looks like he's doing an ad for top-shelf scotch.

"Dad, how'd it go?"

The man angles his face toward us, and I see Christian's resemblance to his father is astonishing. This is what Christian will look like in twenty-five years, give or take a few.

"Not too shabby, son. We got pretty much everything we asked for going into it."

"Excellent. I told you to stand firm. It's a buyer's market all the way."

"Yes, you were right, and your mother is ecstatic. Imagine, her very own island. She wants to name it and call it a country," he laughs, his eyes shining. Green eyes… not silvery blue like his son's. They're a very pale green, almost the color of grapes. Glancing at me with zeal, he asks his son, "So… will you introduce us or shall I resort to guessing whom this lovely young lady is and by what name she's called?"

Christian scowls. "Give me a chance. Dad, this is Ana Steele. Ana, my father, Carrick Grey."

The elder Mr. Grey takes two long-legged strides and is right before us. He extends his hand and I take it. "It's lovely to meet you, Ana. Thank you for visiting our home."

I smile and hope he doesn't feel my hand trembling. I'm so sickeningly nervous and I'm not exactly sure why. Because they're so wealthy? Or because I really like Christian? Or maybe a bit of both, with some other factors thrown in for good measure. Like how freakishly good-looking they all are. "Likewise. Thank you for having me."

"Where is everyone?" Christian asks, scanning the empty room.

"Your mother is in the kitchen with the staff going over the course order. Your sister is in her room and Elliot has not yet arrived. We are having other company as well.

"Oh? May I ask whom?"

"Carl Stinson, of course, since he did such a bang-up job of pushing through this real estate deal, and his significant other—I believe her name is Gina… er, I cannot recall her surname. Some long Italian name, I believe.

"Oh, and do you remember Rich Kavanagh? He and his family are coming."

In response to my look of surprise, Mr. Grey chuckled. "He told me that his daughter Kate's friend had recently become acquainted with you, Christian. I thought it would be nice for us all to get together. Rich and I used to collaborate quite often."

As if our conversation conjured them, the doorbell rings and I hear Kate's father's booming voice travel through the open parlor doors from the hallway. Knowing Kate will be with me makes me feel much more comfortable and I give her a huge hug when she comes into the room. In less than ten minutes, we're all seated and Babette sends in catering staff to serve drinks. Into this party, Elliot saunters ten minutes later, wearing beat-up jeans and a black jersey. His father doesn't seem to notice his inappropriate dress as Elliot, politely standing, nods and smiles at appropriate intervals while his father introduces him to everyone. He shows verve when he sees me (absolute glee) and when he meets Kate (absolute lust). I hear Christian mutter under his breath, "Will wonders never cease? A woman who got away."

After drinks are served, Grace comes in, marches straight to Christian and gives him an all-encompassing hug and then does the same to Elliot. Christian introduces me and then everyone gets introduced again. When Grace has met everyone, the room falls silent for a moment. Elliot chooses the moment to snicker. "So Christian, tell us where you and Ana met?"

I'm just taking a sip of my wine when he asks the question and the shock makes me gulp and aspirate the wine, and I choke. Christian claps me on the back, glowering at his brother. "We met at a party. Kate, have you recently moved to Seattle?"

"No, I've lived here all of my life," Kate answers innocently.

"Oh? I'm only surprised you haven't met my brother Elliot before. He does get around."

Kate just smiles but says nothing—her father is sitting next to her, for God's sake. Elliot turns beet red and flashes his brother a filthy look. It makes for an awkward moment.

Grace, however, is the perfect hostess. Without missing a beat, she begins to herd everyone into the dining room but holds back her two sons and I hear her say one sentence to them but I cannot make out too many words. Something about ten-year-olds… sniping… embarrassing other people… unacceptable. I head into the dining room ahead of them so as not to intrude on a private moment. After the maternal reprimand, both men hang their heads in disgrace and walk into the room thoroughly chastised. I can't help it: I burst out laughing when I see them and quickly cover my wayward mouth with my hand. Carrick looks over at me and winks. So they know their boys are always having at each other then? Christian wends his way around the huge antique refectory table and takes his seat beside me.

When Grace sits down, I take a moment to observe her. She's the kind of woman any young girl would want to emulate. Dark golden blond hair pulled up in a loose, casual knot, a long elegant neck and slender body, fairly tall at about 5'9, and an elegantly beautiful face. Her eyes sparkle with intelligence and kindness, and it's easy to see the love shining through as she looks at her boys—all three of the ones present. Just as I begin to cast my eyes about for Mia, she sashays into the room, smiling.

"Well, I suppose better late than never," her father remarks.

"Dad, I have a huge research paper to write. I needed to shut myself up in my room."

Carrick looks down the table. "Mia is finishing up her coursework for her Ph.D.

"Oh? What are you studying, Mia?" I'm intrigued how advanced her studies are.

"Political science with a specialty in foreign language. I'd like to go into diplomatic work."

"No one could be more diplomatic than Mia, after all," Grace comments indulgently. "Growing up surrounded by stubborn boys. Even our dog and cat were male."

"Yes, Mom. Thankfully, we had each other." Mia smiles up at her mother. Just as I described Jason Taylor—or just Taylor, as Christian refers to him—in one word, so too could I describe Mia in a word and it's vivacious. She seems to embrace everything she encounters in life, approaching everything—and everyone—with gusto. I remember hearing someone described that way once, and now that I've met Mia, I understand what the description means.

Course after course is served, professionally presented by three black-clad servers, two women and a man. It's like being in an upscale restaurant. All three servers are young and fresh-faced, and I do not appreciate how the two women are drooling over Christian. For God' sake, there are other handsome men present—why can't they choose another? But no, they both take every opportunity to come to our part of the table, and brush against Christian's arm, or giggle in his general direction. Bilious jealousy rushes up my throat like acid reflux and I take a sip of water to push it down. I need to get a hold of myself. I'm not his girlfriend; I'm a paid escort. Why can't I get that through my head?

My narrative self jumps in: _it's because you like him, dummy. Too much. He'll break your heart if you're not careful. He's miles out of your league_.

My narrative self is a total bitch.

Finally dinner comes to an end and Grace invites everyone to come into the music room. Lu Ma Ling, a Chinese exchange student who has been staying with the Greys for the last six months, will be playing the piano for the guests' enjoyment. Grace is so excited for everyone to hear how talented the girl is so she shepherds us all into the cherry-paneled room. After the shy young woman plays three pieces, Christian leans over and whispers in my ear. "Do you want a tour of the house?"

I nod, reluctant to make any sound at all while such beautiful playing is going on.

As soon as she finishes the current concerto, Christian stands and draws me up. We quietly exit the room.

Once we are out of earshot, he turns to me. "Are you having a good time, Ana?"

"Very much so. You seem sort of uncomfortable, however. Does it have anything to do with me?"

"Of course not. I always feel somewhat stressed when I'm with my parents. Expectations are always too damn high."

"Christian, you've certainly met their expectations—and then some. How could they help but be exceedingly proud of you. My God, look what you've accomplished"

He nods, looking distracted. After a moment, he snaps out of it and begins my tour.

"Well, you've seen much of the first floor. There's a family room in back, as well as a mudroom and an office. We'll head upstairs."

I hold his hand again to let him lead. God, I love holding his hand!

"This floor has four of the six bedroom suites, as well as the library, and the dressing room with laundry. Upstairs, are the two master suites."

"They take up the entire floor?"

He nods, smiling.

"Nice. Which one was your bedroom?"

"At the end of the hall. Come, I'll show you."

He leads me past three other doors. When we reach the end, he knocks first, then opens the door, allowing me to walk in first. Wow. It's a beautiful room, something one might see in a catalog for a boy's room. It's done in masculine tones of deep blue, a lighter blue and chocolate brown. There are a few posters on the walls but they're unusual for an American teenage boy: a soccer player—not football or baseball player, a shot of Kurt Cobain sitting on a stool with guitar in hand, and a poster of Buddha, interestingly enough. There's a saying in Japanese, I think, over the bed. The bed.

The bed is large—queen size—and it has a beautiful handmade quilt covering it. The quilt is made with every shade of blue possible, with bits of dark green and brown thrown in. One of the talents of a quiltmaker is surely the eye to put colors together and make them harmonize. At the foot of the bed is a neatly folded cashmere throw in an espresso brown. I know it's cashmere because I can't help touching it as I pass.

I gravitate toward the desk. Above it is a bulletin board with photos and other paraphernalia thumbtacked to it. I see a young Christian in various photos, a few of him with friends, a few alone. The ones of him as a small child are unusual in that he's not smiling in any of them. The photos of him as an older boy are much happier. Interesting.

As I'm poring over them, I feel his hands come around my waist and my body has an instant reaction to his touch: everything sharply contracts, among other things. I lean back against him and he whispers in my ear.

"I know you have limitations on your contract but I would very much like to exceed them tonight."

I say nothing but I try to let him know of my agreement by melting against him. As I do, I feel his rock-hard erection on my lower back and I get wet, very wet. I want him so badly.

One arm wraps around me, while the free one begins to travel upward. He reaches my breast and begins to play with it.

Another whisper. "Is this okay?"

I lean my head back into his chest and murmur, "Everything's okay."

A deep, sexy laugh is his only response and it pulls me in deeper. But surely he doesn't want to do this here, in his parents' home? We should go back to his place. He does have his own place, I'm assuming, though he's never mentioned it.

His insistent hand keeps touching my breasts in ways I've never imagined being touched and I want him to do more. The fabric between my body and his talented fingers is frustrating me. I'm not even sure I can wait until we leave—I'm in crisis mode at this point. What is on my mind right now, other than the obvious, is whether or not to tell him I've never been here before. But surely I must.

"Christian…"

He turns me around to face him. "I want you, Ana. I've wanted you since I first saw you in that blue gown."

"I want you, too, Christian. There's something I have to tell you first."

He isn't expecting that from me and his eyes turn wary. "What is it?"

I feel the blood now rushing to my face—I must be driving my body crazy. "It's… uh… it's just that I've never been here before." I force myself to look up at him and watch as confusion clouds his eyes.

"You've never… what? Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

I manage a small smile. "I don't know. Depends on what you think I'm saying."

"That you've never… you're a virgin?"

He said it; I didn't. I feel relief. "Yes." My voice sounds funny, breathy.

"May I ask why? Why you waited so long?"

So long? It's not like I'm forty. Inhaling deeply, I try to answer him. "I never met anyone who I wanted to…" I don't need to finish it.

"Have you now?"

"Yes," I answer without compunction.

"Here? Or shall we go to my place?"

"I'd feel more comfortable at your place."

He leans in to kiss me and the heat ratchets right up again, my knees start to buckle but his arm holds me up. He's clutching me to him and now he's against my belly and he's getting bigger, harder even, if that's possible. Can we wait? Finally, he tears himself away as if it were a struggle.

"Then we'll go to my place," he says, grabbing my hand and leading me to the door.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

When we get downstairs, we are enthusiastically intercepted by a grinning Elliot.

"There you are. Been looking for you two. Come on, Christian. Let's shoot a game of pool. Kate tells me that she and Ana are a couple of pool sharks."

"Ana's tired, Elliot. I was just about to take her home."

"Aw, c'mon. One quick game."

Carrick's voice resonates from behind us. "Go ahead, Christian. It will be nice having you two duke it out over the green felt again. Your mom and I miss our family tournaments."

Christian looks down at me. "One game okay?"

"Of course," I say immediately. I've waited twenty-two years. What's another hour or so?

We end up staying almost two more hours and Kate and I get to display our skill with a cue stick. I got my education over all those nights at our local bar when Kate left Jose and I flat after meeting a new guy—as she always did. The two of us would drown our sorrows in cheap beer, and bond over the pool table. Jose taught me well so I know my way around an eight ball.

After Kate and I giggle ourselves dizzy at the constant bickering and one-upmanship between the Grey brothers, our evening finally draws to a close. We're saying goodnight to Mr. and Mrs. Grey when Elliot comes up behind us.

"Kate, I'll take you home."

Christian pipes in, "I'll be happy to drive Kate home, Elliot. No need for you to go out of your way."

Elliot's fair face turns flushed. "Oh, it's not out of my way at all. Come on, Kate. Let's go."

Christian stops him by grabbing his arm. "Elliot, do you even know where Kate lives?"

Now I know Christian is trying to piss off his brother. At first I wasn't sure.

Elliot answers him through gritted teeth. "Yes, I do. Thanks for your generosity, Christian, but I'll be only too happy to take Kate. Would you like me to see Ana home as well? Since they do live together and I'm going there already?"

Christian smiles. "Thank you, but I've got that covered. After all, she arrived with me and she'll leave with me."

I chance a quick glance at their parents. Carrick and Grace merely look amused at the two of them. Apparently, this constant back and forth is a hallmark of their relationship. What I find amazing is that they still talk to and spend time with each other, given the constant friction. I suppose it's all in good fun.

Anyway, Kate would have stepped in sooner or later, if I know her… and I do. She's not going to let an opportunity to get to know Elliot better—much better—go by. I can see already how she's acting toward him, laughing at all his jokes, speaking in her flirty way, keeping her voice low and sexy and hanging on his every word. It all equals a Kate crush. Big time.

By Elliot driving Kate home, it saves me from admitting that I'm not going back to our condo. Obviously they'll know when I never arrive home, but at least Mr. and Mrs. Grey won't have proof positive of my wanton behavior. The four of us leave the Grey home together, saying goodnight when Taylor brings the car around.

Again, Christian Grey and I sit in the Mercedes CL600, close together but yawning miles apart. The silence hangs between us as dense as Mississippi mud cake. This time, though, it's heavy with our thoughts rather than bristling with sexual tension. Am I really going to do this… _with him_… _tonight_?

Yes. I am.

My mind is rewinding, reviewing, and remembering. At sixteen, I almost went all the way with my boyfriend, Jake. He was a hot senior. We'd been dating for almost two years and he'd been begging for the last year. It's not that I didn't want to do it: I was as horny as any other teenager. Fear was my deterrent: I was afraid on so many levels. First and foremost, I didn't want to get pregnant and condoms are not always so reliable. Second, I didn't want to make a mistake and then regret it for years, maybe forever. I had girlfriends even then who had terrible first-time experiences and I wanted mine to be memorable for a different reason.

When I finally capitulated, Jake was psyched. He invited me over the night his parents left for a ski weekend. He and his brother were alone in the house under strict orders not to have any visitors. I got there an hour after his parents left. Though Jake was anxious to do it, I know, he tried to be gentlemanly about the whole thing, offering me a drink and playing some music. We slow-danced for a long time and he began to kiss me. From there it was only a matter of time. We were halfway through the third song—Muse was playing—and making out heavily while barely dancing, when his parents walked through the front door. Apparently their SUV broke down soon after they got on the highway so they turned around and came home.

They were not pleased that Jake had ignored their wishes and so quickly at that. I think that Mr. Wilton, Jake's dad, scoped out the situation in short order, realizing what they'd interrupted. He drove me home and asked to speak to my parents. I begged him not to but he was adamant. I guess he didn't want his son to get into any trouble with an underage girl. Jake was nearly eighteen at that point.

My parents had a long talk with me afterward. My stepfather stepped out of the room at one point, leaving me at my mother's mercy. She proceeded to explain things to me, in excruciating detail, things like STDs, statutory rape, teen pregnancy, abortion, child abuse by young parents, and responsibility. By the time she finally released me, I'd concluded that my legs were going to stay closed, maybe even permanently.

The follow-up to that whole debacle was what cemented my decision. A friend of mine who lived a few towns over called me three weeks later to tell me a story. Seems she'd seen Jake with another girl at a party she attended. She recognized Jake immediately as my boyfriend and called to ask if we were broken up. I remember my exact response.

"_We are now."_

First, I had to confirm his cheating but that wasn't too difficult—he freely admitted it. He told me he'd seen the girl twice before she agreed to sleep with him, and here we were going on two years together and I'd given him nothing. God, I was so happy then that it had never happened and I made myself a solemn promise: it wouldn't happen… _ever_… until _I_ was the one who initiated it, until _I _was the one who wanted a man with every molecule of my being.

I never met that man. In college, I dated but… _meh_. There was always something wrong: he talked too much about himself, he was cranky, he skipped showers, or he had bad breath, he liked awful music, had no fashion sense. Something always left me ice cold. Then again, college doesn't tend to offer up real men very often so I hadn't met any yet.

Until one warm evening in April a few weeks ago when I met Christian Grey.

I shoot a quick glance at him. In the dark of the car, I can only see his face in shadows but each time we pass a street lamp, I'm able to see more. His expression seems gloomy and I wonder why. Shouldn't he be excited, as I am? What's going on in that quicksilver mind? He must feel my gaze for his eyes swivel toward me and he returns the stare. It's as if there's a direct conduit from his eyes to my lower region—that's how instant my physical response flares up.

His lips twitch up in a slight smile and my cheeks flame. Does he know what I'm thinking? I follow his eyes to my legs and realize I'm squeezing my thighs together. Swiftly I relax them and his smile grows bigger. Damn it, he's way too observant.

Lifting his hand, he runs a long finger down my cheek. "Hi," he says so softly, sweetly, "how do you feel?"

I decide to be honest. "Nervous… excited." I only hope Taylor can't hear my whispered words.

His finger wanders from my cheek, running down my throat, across the collarbone and then back along the top of my breasts. I can feel my nips tightening in response and there's not too much I can do to hide it—they're standing at full alert. My eyes dart longingly to my pink sweater resting on the seat next to me where I tossed it as we got in. As his finger begins to descend, I risk a glance toward Taylor and the finger stops. Realizing I'm holding my breath, I slowly release it.

In an effort to get my mind off the elephant in the car with us, I pay more attention to my surroundings and begin to notice how smooth the ride is.

"Powerful car. And smooth…you can barely feel the motion, even from the backseat."

Eyes yet unfocused, he answers distractedly, "Yes, it is. Though my tiny sportscar has even more horses under the hood so I tend to have a warped perspective."

"A sportscar? Why didn't we take it today?" I love small, fast cars—especially when they have gorgeous male drivers.

"It's a two-seater and I wanted to have a few drinks."'

"Oh. Good thinking. How many cars do you own?"

"Four." He shifts his gaze back to the window and beyond, and I fall quiet again.

Four cars? Seems a tiny bit excessive, but, then again, I'm a simple girl. I like this car, though, I think, as my hand caresses the soft, buttery leather of the seat. My anticipation of the night makes the car ride feel interminable, but it probably only takes a half hour or so before we pull up in front of a huge apartment building. Peeking out the window, I look up and up… and up, barely able to see the top of the building from our vantage point right in front.

"So this is where you live?"

He nods.

Taylor clears his throat. "Mr. Grey, I'll bring the car around to the garage, sir."

"Thank you. Stay put," he says as Taylor begins to get out of the car. Christian climbs out on the street side of the circular drive and comes around to open my door… like the gentleman he is. I'm having a hard time connecting this Christian to the man in that sweaty room, watching Minx get whipped. I banish the thought from my mind. Tonight belongs to _this_ Christian and to me. I won't allow anything to mar it.

"Oh my God, this is amazing," I say, as he shows me into the entrance hall of his penthouse suite. The ceiling soars twenty feet into the air and there's some kind of marble or limestone—travertine—whatever lining the expanse of floor. The lower walls are covered in a rich wallpaper, the upper walls done in Venetian plaster so subtle it looks like paint, and the furniture is heavy dark wood and almost certainly antique. Exquisite paintings line the upper part of the wall—I count twelve in all.

He laughs. We haven't even left the foyer and you're impressed?"

"This," I wave my arm, "is impressive, Mr. Grey. Very much so."

He places his hand on the small of my back and gently ushers me inside. The great room is aptly named. It is palatial and one whole wall is covered with glass. I head straight there, as if magnetically drawn by the view. When it's before me, I slowly turn around.

"Christian, this is magnificent."

I catch him eyeing me intently. "I'm glad you like it. May I show you the bedrooms?"

Flushing, I nod and sidle over to where he stands, grasping his outstretched hand. He leads me up an impressive flight of stairs, darkly gleaming hardwood with a Persian runner and an iron banister. When we get upstairs, we walk to a pair of double doors. "The master suite," he says by way of introduction and gestures me inside.

On the same side as the wall of windows downstairs, his bedroom also has one wall of glass with the same fantastic view of the city. My God, but he truly looks down on the rest of the world. Cloistered in his palace in the clouds, he doesn't have to mingle with the dirty masses. Is it intentional? His voice breaks through my musings.

"Ana?"

"Yes?"

"May I get you anything? A drink, perhaps?"

"Water would be good."

He nods and disappears into an adjoining room, returning a few moments later with a frosted glass filled with water and chipped ice

"Do you have a refrigerator in there," I say half jokingly.

"Yes, I do actually."

"Oh."

He's just standing there, still watching me. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you're nervous, Christian."

"Nervous? No, Ana. It's just that I've never brought anyone into my bedroom. It's a new experience."

"Never?"

His brows arch. "You're the first."

"Why haven't you brought anyone home? I'm assuming you've had many girlfriends."

"I didn't say I never brought anyone home, Ana. I never brought anyone into my bedroom."

"Ah." I look at my shoes, decide I really like them. "You didn't address the second question."

"You didn't pose it as one."

"Do you have lots of girlfriends?"

"No… not _girlfriends_."

"I'm afraid I don't understand. I know you're not going to tell me you're an innocent… so…" I feel a gasp begin and choke it back. "You're not gay?"

In my mind I'm praying, please say no, please say no. I'd be crushed.

"No, Ana, I'm not gay—far from it. I suppose I do need to explain myself but I just don't think now's the right time. Suffice it to say, I'm not a romantic. For now, that will do."

"Oh." _He's not a romantic… but he likes women… enough to bring them home… but not into his bedroom_. I'm totally confused. I gape at him as he toes off his shoes and begins to divest himself of wallet, keys, wristwatch, socks, and shirt. The routine is strangely soothing, reminding me of my father when he came home from work and would get comfortable. I'd follow him into my parents' bedroom and watch him unwind.

Not entirely soothing, however, since this man is not my father and he's getting ready to… _well_. When he turns around my mouth goes dry. Dry as the Sahara. The man is simply beautiful, perfectly beautiful, just as I knew he'd be. He should be in a museum for all the world to enjoy.

"You must work out a lot," my voice sounds as if I've swallowed a frog.

He smiles and saunters over to me. His gait is casual—his prey a sure thing.

"I do my fair share. Now it's your turn to show and tell."

Leaning in, he kisses me gently, just brushing his lips across mine. When he lifts his head, his eyes are troubled.

Why, I wonder?

He says softly, "Before we go any further, I need to know if this night is conditional?"

I just look at him, baffled. "Conditional?"

"As I said before, at some point soon, a conversation needs to occur between us, Ana, and questions need to be posed and answered. I'm not particularly of a mind to do that right now but I do need to know if spending the night with me is contingent on the answers to those questions."

"You mean the whole leathersex thing?" I sound as if I've been running.

He looks uncomfortable. "Well… yes, that… and others. I have… _issues_, Ana. Serious ones… so I'm not good boyfriend material. If that's what you're looking for…?"

He leaves the sentence dangling but I can read the writing on the wall. If a boyfriend is what I want, he's not the man for the job. He wants to sleep with me, no strings attached, and he probably thinks because I'm a virgin that I expect a diamond ring in exchange for the night.

I stare into his eyes and in the swirling depths I see troubled waters. What issues, I wonder? His life seems pretty damn good to me… but then I remember the photos of him as a little boy, unsmiling in every one and I wonder if these so-called issues go that far back.

"It's not conditional," I say finally. I don't want to stop. I want him to make love to me here, now, tonight. I believe he wants the same.

Light filters back into his silvery blue irises. "Well, then, Ms. Steele, let's get you out of these clothes, shall we?

His hands grip my waist and he backs me toward the huge bed. It's a beautiful, masculine four-poster made of polished pewter-colored iron and barn wood, and draped in the most sumptuous bedding I've ever seen in person. If there weren't a hot man in front of me who I was desperate to touch, my hands would head straight for the silver and espresso duvet.

Once he has me seated on the edge of the bed, he drops to his knees and pulls my face to his. As he begins to kiss me, his hands begin to wander, starting with my throat. With both of his large hands wrapped around my throat, and his mouth on and inside mine, I feel marked by his possession and it makes my body temperature rocket.

Then his hands slide to my shoulders and he massages them, his fingers sure and strong. Down to my waist, hips, thighs… God, I want him to touch me everywhere. He's taking his time, though, driving me a little bit crazy.

"I can kiss you all day, Ana," he whispers after finally breaking away. "I've never enjoyed kissing a woman as much as I do you."

I smile and watch as his fingers move to the tiny pearl buttons of my blouse. One by one, he slips them out of their slots until the shirt flares open. I thank the sartorial gods that I consistently splurge on underthings, wearing my white, lacy lingerie today. The bra is satin on the bottom half and lace on the top and it fits me to perfection. I think Christian agrees for he's staring at it… well, maybe not at the _bra_. He leans in, slides the shirt off my shoulders, leaving my arms imprisoned by the sleeves, and lightly licks and bites my breasts through the fabric, running his tongue over my nips. A throaty moan escapes me, embarrassing me, but all he says is "Shhh" and keeps going.

His hands slip around my back and unhook the bra with arrogant ease, spilling out my breasts as he slides the shirt off the rest of the way and then the bra… and then looks at me.

And then sharply gasps. "I doubt you have the smallest clue how much I want you, Ana. I've thought of you every night since I saw you at Madame Irina's, looking spectacular in that lucky blue gown. I've imagined how beautiful these are," his hands wrap around my breasts and gently squeeze, "and I must say they exceed my imagination. A perfect handful, too."

I can think of nothing else but his mouth on me and as he leans in, I think he'll lick me again but he doesn't; instead his mouth descends over the whole nipple and he sucks. Desire—burning, thick, unstoppable—uncoils in the pit of my belly. I'm overwhelmed by the sensations already and I know there's so much more.

Still on his knees, he undoes the button on my trousers, leisurely pulling down the zipper as if he has all the time in the world. He keeps his eyes on mine, never taking them away. Mine are glued to him, too, to everything he does—I couldn't tear my gaze away if there was a fire. His places his palm between my breasts and gently but insistently pushes me down onto the bed. As soon as I'm flat on my back, he gets to his feet and yanks off my pants. I have nothing left on but my panties. Never taking his burning eyes off me, he unbuttons his jeans, then tugs them down, leaving only his boxers on. I try not to look but I can't help but notice the tenting and it looks huge. Fear now enters the equation—it's so big, it has to hurt me. He catches me looking, and flashes me a wicked grin, his white teeth contrasting against his darker skin.

Massaging my legs, he hovers over me and begins to kiss me everywhere, moving up and down my body, up and down my legs and right on top of my skimpy panties. When his hand slides between my legs, I suck in a gasp. Feeling him touch me there is both terrifying and electrifying. Every nerve in my body is humming and my fear of his considerable size is all but forgotten. I need him so desperately it actually hurts. I'm embarrassingly wet down there but I'm almost beyond worrying. I feel as if I might come before he even gets near me.

"Ana, you're so beautiful, do you know that? Your skin is flawless and softer than any silk or velvet. If you were mine, I'd never stop touching you."

_I am yours. Or want to be. What's it going to take for you to realize it?_

He stands up suddenly, steps over to the bedside table, and grabs a foil packet from the drawer. Returning to me, he swiftly tears off my panties and divests himself of his trunks. As soon as they come off, his erection springs out, and he is fucking huge. The word sword comes to mind.

"Are all men that big?" I hear myself whisper.

His voice husky, he says, "Now's not the time to bring up other men, Ana," he pauses and grins devilishly, "but I doubt it. Don't worry, we'll fit fine. It might be a bit tight at first… but that's a good thing." He winks.

Oh, that wink does things to me.

His hands go under my knees to pull my legs apart and he crawls up between them toward my face. "Are you absolutely sure? This is the last exit before the toll."

In answer I pull his face down and kiss him. When we break away, he looks at me. "It might hurt for a few moments but I'll do it fast so we don't prolong the unpleasant part. Okay?"

"Am I your first virgin, Christian?"

"Yes, but I know what I'm doing, baby. Trust me."

For whatever reason, I find I do trust him. So very much. Maybe insanely much.

Clutching my face in his hands, he begins to kiss me with abandon and I respond to it instantly. One hand goes back between my legs and I feel his fingers exploring me everywhere. It feels so illicit to be touched there… but taboo or not, it stokes me higher. I know he can feel how wet I am for him but thankfully he doesn't comment on it. On the heels of that thought, he whispers in my ear. "You're so wet, baby, all for me. I'm already covered in you and I'm not inside yet. I like that, Ana, very much. Will you always get wet for me, baby?"

I jerk my head in answer, embarrassed beyond belief but also readier than I've ever been before. I can feel him positioning himself—he's so hot and hard and pulsing—and then he grasps my wrists and pins them over my head, kisses me again, and thrusts his hips forward, breaking in, tearing through the barrier of my virginity—not violently but unstoppably, a force that won't be resisted.

I'm unable to contain my cry: the pain is intense—burning and awful. I can't retreat for the bed is at my back and his weight is pinning me down. I try to inch up, away from the thing causing me so much pain but before I get too far, the agony magically disappears, as if it never existed. Opening my eyes in a dazed shock, I look directly into his warm ones and he gives me a sweet smile and releases my wrists.

"I'm in now. Are you okay, baby?"

His thumbs are caressing my face and his eyes hold concern and I think in this minute that I might already love him.

"I'm fine," I whisper and he remains still. "What are you doing?"

"Just letting you acclimate to me. It's nice how your body is conforming to mine. Feel it?"

I nod. He takes my face in both his hands and kisses me hard, rocking his hips back and swinging into me again. This time I can appreciate the whole thing: his heat, his hardness, the friction—everything. His rhythm is flawless as he speeds up and his thrusts become harder, then he slows again, before gradually picking up the pace again. I see him grimacing and wonder why. "Are you okay?" I finally whisper.

His voice is strained. "Oh, baby, you're so tight. You feel so good it's hard to keep my control." He peers down at me, eyes shining with renewed resolve. "Time to let go, Ana," and with those soft words, he becomes more aggressive and I feel pressure building within me but I don't think I can give him what he wants. He's not going to be denied, though; he wants me to give it all to him. His hand slides between us and his fingers begin to circle my clit every time he pulls out and that is something that cannot be resisted, especially when he lightly pinches it and I scream out, blasting into the pinnacle, and after a few more quick thrusts, he jerks, coming too, and saying my name in such a beautiful, breathless way that I wonder if he might love me, too.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The bedside clock reads 10:03 a.m. I bolt upright—abruptly awake. I'm floating in a cocoon of luxurious sheets and fluffy pillows in the large bed. _Christian Grey's bed_. It takes a few seconds to orient myself but the night rushes back into my head and I instantly warm. Last night I let him all over and inside my body.

Where is he? I'm alone in the massive bed and I run my hands over the satiny caress of the duvet. I may not be wealthy but I do know how to recognize high-end when I see it, and this bedding is the best money could buy. Hand-stitched Italian high-thread sheets in snowy white Egyptian cotton, a soft brushed-cotton blanket from Portugal in a pearl gray, the silver and espresso brown duvet with matching shams—the only thing missing is the beautiful man himself.

Merely conjuring him up in my mind's eye makes me feel overheated. I fall back onto the pillows, luxuriating in the billowy comfort. I could get used to this, I think, and then the bitchy little voice inside my head tells me to do no such thing. I scowl. Not only am I talking to myself, but I also don't get along well with the company. After nearly a half hour passes with no sign of the man, I drag my body out of bed to take a shower.

Stepping through the adjoining door, I find myself in a humongous dressing room. On one side is a walk-in closet, complete with every possible built-in, the dark wood of the shelves and drawers furniture-grade and stunning. The lights are warm halogen and the main room is nearly wall-to-wall mirrors. In what looks like another closet is actually a connecting laundry room, and beyond that a small exercise studio with elliptical trainer, treadmill, bicycle and bench press. On the other side of the dressing room is the bathroom. Finally.

Again a huge mirror confronts me. I stare at myself, wanting to see a physical difference but there is none. I feel so different, however, on the inside. It's not just the sex, though I am sore there. It's that I feel like a woman—a full-fledged woman. Sounds stupid because I felt like a woman yesterday, too. But having known a man last night for the first time makes me feel more sensuous, more in tune with my body. I want to see the changes I feel. But I don't and that's a shame. I spin around and head into the steam shower. Christian does live well.

I'm in the middle of a very hot shower and singing a song by Adele—not nearly as well—when Christian comes into the room. He strips quickly and gets into the shower with me. Despite all that we did last night, I still feel very shy and I know I'm blushing. He doesn't notice, I'm sure, since my whole body is red from the hot water.

"Hello, my pretty. Did you sleep well?" He asks the question as he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, his hands reaching for my breasts.

I lean back into his chest and merely nod. Reaching for the shower gel, he squirts some in the palm of his hand and rubs his hands together in front of me, until they're foamy with suds. "You know what they say about women who shower with men, don't you?"

"No, what do they say?"

"They say," he pauses to begin soaping my breasts, "that they have the cleanest breasts in town. I do believe you will join their ranks today."

"Well, that's good." I remember to breathe finally and exhale. "Cleanliness is next to godliness, after all."

"Very true, Ms. Steele. But I fear you're standing a lot closer to Satan right about now. I hope you won't hold that against me?"

"I'll try not to." I take the shower gel and squeeze some into my hand, turning around and reaching for him. At first he flinches slightly but then he lets me close again. He's already as hard as he was last night and I want to touch him in the worst way. He lets me, closing his eyes as if he's enjoying my novice touch.

"Am I doing it right?" I whisper, embarrassed yet emboldened by the satisfied look on his face.

"There's no wrong way to do it. But here, I'll show you the best way." He puts his hand over mine and moves it up and down, squeezing my hand over himself and when I have the rhythm, he lets go.

I watch his face as I stroke him and his expression—both heat and elation share space there—offers me all the encouragement I need. What crosses my mind next is how he would taste… and what he would do if I just dropped to my knees and took him in my mouth. Too shy, I resist the impulse. He would like it, wouldn't he? Or would he think me slutty? I wonder.

Later we're having coffee and juice and he's grinning. "Do you know why I got up ahead of you this morning?"

"No, why?"

"My mother dropped by for a visit."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes, Ms. Steele. Would you like to know what prompted her visit?"

"I don't know. Would I?"

"She was so excited to finally meet one of my girlfriends. She said she and my father always see the publicity shots of me with a glamorous woman on my arm but for all she knows, they could just be paid escorts for appearances. At long last, she met a real girlfriend." His lips twitch and then give in to a full megawatt smile that lights up his whole face.

I grin, too, at the sheer irony. I'm probably the only paid escort of the bunch. And the thought immediately depresses me.

"Do I have to tell Irina we exceeded the bounds of my contract?"

"You don't have to tell Irina anything, Ana. As of yesterday evening when I picked you up, you fulfilled your end of the contract. Thus, you no longer work for the woman."

"What about Kent?"

"What about him? He's a big boy and can find many able and willing models for his designs. You're retiring."

The hard look that flashes in his eyes tells me he's not kidding. I decide to let it go… _for now_. I happen to really like Kent and despite that I fervently wish otherwise, Christian has no claim on me. To change the subject, I ask, "When will we have the discussion you said was necessary?"

"Eager, are you? I myself would rather defer it as long as possible."

"Why?"

He doesn't answer but his eyes cloud with some unreadable emotion. After a minute that stretches into eternity, he asks softly, "Are you finished with your coffee?"

I nod.

"We can approach it two ways: I can show you my du—er, let's call it my playroom and explain afterward, or I can do the reverse."

"Playroom," I repeat, smiling. "You seem a bit old to have a playroom." An image of this masculine creature before me surrounded by a roomful of toys flashes through my mind and a giggle escapes me before I can help it.

He raises a brow but the ends of his lips turn up. "I could get used to hearing you giggle, Ms. Steele." Then his face turns stern, all traces of humor gone. "This, however, is not the time or place for giggling."

I think he's kidding… _think_ being the operative word… but I'm uncertain so I stop, my amusement shriveling up in the face of his possible annoyance. "Maybe explaining first would be better. I've seen the… um… equipment at Irina's so…"

"Well, you can guess the basics. I do think showing you the room might help explain what goes on without my having to spell it out. Afterward, any questions that arise in your mind can be asked and answered. Come now."

He rises to his feet, his hand reaching for mine, and he leads me upstairs to the third floor of his mammoth apartment.

At the double doors he removes a key from his pocket, unlocking it. My heartbeat is starting to throttle up, probably because of the way he's acting, like this is a big deal.

I think I have some idea of what to expect after happening upon Irina's leathersex room yet I'm not entirely prepared for what I see, and can't stop myself from gaping all around me, transfixed. A lot of creepy thought has gone into appointing this room: it has black walls and red velvet furnishings. The floors are the highly polished dark hardwoods found throughout the apartment. Wrought iron sconces punctuate the walls every few feet and are shaded by blood-red glass, lending the room an eerie ambiance. But for the movable, bright spotlights on the floors, like the ones they use when shooting films, it could pass for a medieval torture chamber. As the thought twists through my head, I look around for a torture rack.

Fortunately there isn't one but there is a giant x-shaped cross on one wall; it's larger than the one Minx was strapped to and I can see restraints built into each arm of the monstrosity. The lower limbs have blocks attached near the bottom, apparently for someone to stand on while chained. There is a waist-high bench made of dark, nearly black wood and ruby red leather. The huge bed is covered with black satin sheets and a red crushed-velvet coverlet, and its head-and footboards have iron links dangling from every corner. In the middle of the large room, there's a strange looking thing—it looks like gymnastic equipment. However, it's what covers the entire long wall of the room that seizes me and won't let me go: whips of every size and thickness, and other implements of pain hang ominously from a sturdy wooden rack that's mounted high on the wall. Since that wall has to be about twenty feet in length and implements cover the whole of it, there are an awful lot of pain-producing tools at his fingertips.

He's watching me: I can feel his eyes following my every move as I walk around in appalled wonder. Inhaling deeply, I look up at the ceiling to give my eyes a reprieve from the scary stuff. Unfortunately, no reprieve is forthcoming. Instead, I see chains attached to the ceiling that would be hanging if not looped around some kind of rigging system so they don't dangle. Something that looks like a pulley and another thing that looks like the chain on a bicycle crisscross the ceiling but over the bed and the waist-high bench are mirrors. In fact, mirrors surround the padded bench on three sides as well as above it. What happens there? Whatever it is, it's something he wants to watch—and wants the person on the bench to see, too. Or maybe it's designed for an audience? I recoil in horror at the thought. Does he do all the whipping and whatever… or does he have it done to him by someone else?

I'm mulling over these questions and their possible answers when his voice perforates my focus.

"Ana?"

My eyes dart to his but I cannot read him—at all. Total poker face. "Um…" My voice barely emerges, as if I've forgotten how to project it. I suppose I'm more affected by this room than I'd thought I would be. "I have a lot of questions but I'm not sure where to begin. I guess… the first one and probably the most important… well, maybe not the most important because the most important would be how it would im—"

"Ana!"

I pull up short at his commanding tone, trying to see him clearly in the dimness of the room. His eyes are hard and his lips tense. In fact, tension radiates off his body like heat waves. "What, Christian?"

"Ask me the question."

"Do you do these things to… others or do they do them to you? Or is it a combination?" I pause to allow him to answer but my nerves are getting the best of me so before he can formulate his response, I rattle on. "And is it private or is it like Irina's party where other people watch?"

He holds up his hand to preempt any further talk from me. "First, _I_ do it… to women… no exceptions. Women who come here because they want or need it, I should clarify. I am a dominant. The women who join me in here are submissive. It's a symbiotic relationship.

"Second, no audience, never. I'm a private man and irrespective of my own tendencies, I would never subject an intimate partner to any public display out of respect for her." He takes a step closer to me. "Apart from my personal values, I have a reputation to uphold and protect. I haven't ever been able to reliably ascertain if the notoriety that public disclosure would surely bring would ruin or enhance that reputation… but I'm not of a mind to find out. Hence, every precaution is taken to ensure my privacy."

"Oh. So at Irina's…"

"At Irina's… she'd requested…" He stops and, after a weighty moment, sighs. "I suppose I need to explain it all. You've seen enough here." He looks at his watch. "It's well past noon. Why don't we go downstairs and enjoy a glass of wine while we have this conversation?" He holds out his hand confidently but his eyes reflect uncertainty. The duality is interesting but upsetting. Does he think I'm afraid of him now? _Am I?_

"Ana?"

I place my hand in his. I'm trying my best to be brave in the face of all of this_… _and try to think of him as he was last night—with his family and later, with me.

We're quiet as we walk downstairs. I distract myself by looking at the beautifully painted walls and the elegant lighting in the hallway. Every last detail in this apartment has been carefully considered so no matter where the eye falls, there's a visual reward.

"Have a seat," he gestures to the saddle-colored leather sofa when we reach the great room, and I comply. A large white oval platter of fruit, cheese, and breads is placed in front of me, reminding me we didn't eat breakfast and it's now well into lunchtime.

"White or red?"

"Whichever you prefer," I say.

He goes into the wine cabinet and returns with a bottle that he proceeds to expertly open. I think I could sit here and watch this man all day—everything about him is the definition of extreme beauty and competence. Extreme beauty _in _his competence. Economy of movement. Poetry in motion.

After letting the wine breathe for a few moments, he pours out two goblets of a crimson wine, instantly evoking in my mind the torture chamber upstairs. He hands me one with a knowing smile and I wonder if he can possibly read my mind.

"So, fire away, Ms. Steele."

"Well," I take a hearty sip and nearly choke. "You had mentioned explaining something about Irina?"

"Yes, I will explain." He sits down across from me, plucks a strawberry off the platter, and pops it into his mouth. I cannot peel my eyes away from that sensuous mouth, watching him chew it, the red juice glistening on his full lips. I squirm and squeeze my thighs together, a move that does not go unnoticed by him. He catches it and smiles. "Or not?" he says. "We can have some more fun in the bedroom first?"

"No," my voice is unequivocal. "You will not distract me with your body, Mr. Grey. Let's get this conversation over and done with, please."

He shrugs slightly. "Very well. Okay, Irina, right? We go way back, the madame and I. She had the estate two properties down from my family home while I was growing up."

At my expression of horror, he grins and holds up his hand. "Now, don't go jumping to conclusions, Ms. Steele. Nothing untoward happened…. at first. She and my mother were friends and Irina would hire me for odd jobs around her home to give me something to do, keep me out of trouble. Trouble was something I tended to get into, you see."

"Somehow I can believe it."

"I guess I was around seventeen, give or take a few weeks, when it happened. Irina and her husband were in the middle of a nasty divorce. She had asked me to help her pack some fragile items, get them ready for the moving company. One night she forgot she'd asked me to come over. No one answered my knock but I had a key to her garage and guesthouse so I let myself in when she didn't answer the door. I thought I heard her voice coming from within. I wandered into a rather intense BDSM party in full swing."

I gasp, utterly horrified for the teenaged Christian. "What happened?"

He smiles as if it's a heartwarming story. "Irina was horrified, much as you are now… but I was fascinated, utterly fascinated, by what I saw around me. Let's just say it fed a part of me that was starved and I never looked back. In all fairness, Irina tried to dissuade me from this course but I was adamant. Finally, she took me under her wing, so to speak, taught me how to submit first and then dominate."

"Her husband managed to impoverish her in the divorce. He had better lawyers and the BDSM to hold over her head. That's when she decided to begin the escort business." A sparkle gleams in his eyes. "I drew up the business plan for her."

"You did?"

"Yes. I also found financial backers for her… among my father's friends." He laughs spontaneously. "I knew exactly which ones to target. With my assistance, Irina turned an impressive profit her first year. She put it all back into the business and got it healthy before she took a dime out of it. She's proven to have a very good head for business."

"That was nice of you… gallant, even. So, are you or are you not a client of Irina's now?"

"Not a client, no. I was present at the recent party for two reasons. First, Elliot, who knows nothing of my private life, asked me to attend with him as a favor to a friend. The coincidence was massively uncomfortable initially. Once I got over the shock, I found it rather amusing though."

"And the second?" I prod.

"Irina asked me to do a demonstration as a favor. I'd been about to conduct it when you stumbled into the room. At the moment I was giving pointers to the man with the cat."

"Oh. So that's what you do? Whip women?"

"Not exactly, Ana. It's all about submission and dominance. Included in that relationship is a system of punishment and reward. The playroom is all about pain and pleasure, Ana."

"Pleasure is good but pain isn't."

"Pain can enhance erotic pleasure, you know. It's also used as a deterrent for unacceptable behavior. Some submissives crave pain in and of itself."

"That's horrible. They need therapy not a whipping."

His smile disappears and I think of Minx and realize I sound like a judgmental prig again. "I'm sorry, Christian. I just don't get the mindset. It seems abnormal."

"I understand, Ana. Have you ever studied statistics?"

I shake my head. "Liberal arts all the way."

"Okay, well, there's something called a normal distribution. That's the bell curve where most things fall. That's what normal means—not good or bad, but the majority. From that concept of normal, we then extrapolate that abnormal just means a deviation from the normal distribution curve. So if fewer people share your particular kink, does it mean it's wrong? Are blue eyes wrong? Is a rare talent wrong? To twist a common adage, one man's pain is another man's pleasure. So what?"

I have nothing to say to that. He's right. Who am I to judge? The problem, though, is that if he likes it and I don't, we're incompatible and never the twain shall meet. The thing is, my feelings for Christian are such that I may be be willing to try to like what he likes.

"I can appreciate that, Christian. Is that the whole thing?"

"It's as much of the whole thing as I'll share," he answers cryptically.

Picking my way through this minefield carefully, I think before I speak. "So what exactly does it mean to… um…" I gesture with my hand to myself and then to him.

"I'm interested in having you join me in that room, Ana. I've thought of nothing else since meeting you. I wouldn't force you, of course, but I suppose you can consider it an invitation."

"What would I have to do?"

"Everything I ask, anything I want."

"Whipping?"

"Yes. Not at first. We'd start slowly."

"If I say no?"

"Then you say no and it's no."

"Then… what?"

He shakes his head, sort of grim. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"So no you and me then?"

"No you and me, Ana." His voice is soft yet somehow menacing and my heart lurches, whether at his tone or his words, I'm not really sure.

"What's in it for me, Christian?"

"Besides me? An education. An exploration into your sensuality… and sexuality. Really great orgasms."

I redden on cue and he chuckles.

"Scars?"

"No! Of course not. I would never lay a permanent mark on your pretty little body. The worst you'll get is red… not even black and blue."

"Those whips look pretty deadly to me."

"I know how to use them, Ana. Trust me."

"When do I have to decide?"

"I'd prefer your answer as soon as possible. We can enter into a formal arrangement for a specified period of time, if that makes you feel better."

"It doesn't. I'm not interested in a formal arrangement, Christian."

"What are you interested in, Ana?"

"You."

"Boyfriend?"

"It's just a word. I don't need to use it. What I want is… more, Christian."

"More?"

I nod solemnly. "Yes, more. More affection, more time, more attention… maybe even love somewhere down the road. Is that possible?"

He shows no emotion whatsoever as he stares at me. He just stares and stares and it's unnerving. I begin to fidget, playing with my hair, eating a blueberry, arranging and rearranging my body on the sofa.

Finally, finally, he stands up, crosses to me, and, bending slightly, he grasps my waist with both his hands, lifting me up toward him. He wraps his arms around me in a tight embrace, kisses my hair, and with his lips next to my ear, he whispers. "I might be able to do more. Right now, I'd like to bury myself in your lovely heat, Ana. Can we start with that?"

I look up into his eyes. Today they are the color of nickel. "Yes, we can definitely start with that."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Let's have a chat, y'all. I know you want to get to the story but I want to say that I didn't forget about my readers waiting for updates. This chapter, though, required me to do some thinking and make decisions that will impact the rest of the story. I had much of it written but I had to commit to a path. I considered asking all of you, but realized the answers would be as varied as you all are. So I made an executive decision about the road to take (and the road not taken). Here's hoping everyone likes it.

Chapter 10

"There's something I'm a little confused about." I say before taking a forkful of the garlicky lettuce. He pats his lips after sipping his wine and puts his hands on the table as if my question requires all his concentration.

We're sitting in Christian's kitchen, talking over a Caesar salad a bottle of a California Malbec. I've been with him all weekend but I need to get back home tonight since I have an early shift at the bookstore in the morning. I've been lingering, though, because I don't want this time with him to end.

He gets up to find the remote for the iPod, then lowers the volume on the music. The strains of the Wilco song drop into a soft background hum.

I put down my fork now, leaning back in my chair. Twisting a lock of my hair around my finger, I take a moment to appreciate his appearance as he strolls back to the table. He's wearing dark blue jeans, a black leather belt with a chunky silver buckle, a black linen shirt, tousled, shiny hair, and bare feet. Bare, beautiful feet. How many men have beautiful feet? I begin to wonder. _Focus, Ana_, my inner self bitches at me_. He's waiting, stupid_. Right. "Well, at Irina's… you seemed upset that I'd seen you in that room."

He closes his eyes. "I was. You were too innocent. You had no place in that room."

"But…" I try to think about how to say it right, "earlier you said you've wanted to invite me into your… um… room upstairs since you met me."

"Yes, but I wasn't going to act on it. Even after… seeing you in Irina's room was jarring and I somehow felt I'd disappointed you. I suppose it was due to the look on your face." He shook his head. "The more I thought about it, though… you, in my room, bound… well, the more I wanted it to happen. There's something about you, Ms. Steele, some quality that I find simply irresistible. Though I'm sure you've worked that out by now." He waves his hand dismissively.

Wow, he finds me _irresistible_? I knew he wanted to sleep with me but I didn't know he found me so alluring. The man could seriously have any female he wants… why on earth would he choose me? He's still speaking so I try to focus again on what he's saying now rather than on what he already said.

"…however, I only have that type of relationship. I wasn't sure you'd be interested."

"Why?"

He looks confused. "Why…?"

"Why only that kind of relationship? That's what I don't understand, Christian. Why can't we try just a regular man-woman romantic kind of thing?"

Am I being too presumptuous? Why would he want a romance with me? I'm probably not nearly good enough for the likes of him. But the expression on his face… if I didn't know better, I'd think he is taken aback by my direct question rather than put off. If so, he recovers quickly. "I don't do regular, Ana, that's why. I only have submissives—no girlfriends. It's the only kind I'm interested in having."

"So you don't see women as your equals?"

He shakes his head, vexation clear in his light eyes. "Of course I do. It has nothing to do with gender except to the extent that I am heterosexual and only sexually interested in women. Hence for me, the only submissives I will have are female. Other than that, gender plays no part in it, Ana. Very simply put, I'm a dominant male who plays with submissive females."

"Is a dominant and sadist the same thing?"

I wait through another long pause, a speculative look. "No," he says finally, softly. "A dominant dominates; a sadist enjoys inflicting pain. There are overlaps usually, though."

"So you don't enjoy inflicting pain?"

"I do, actually, but only when it's either merited or deserved."

I don't know what he means by that cryptic remark but I'll let it go for now. "Why do you find it appealing?"

Throwing his head back, he sighs. I'm obviously exasperating him with my questions but I'm trying to understand this whole mindset. Why would he want to beat me if he likes me? What does he get out of that? And why would anyone _want_ to be beaten? Submissive or not: who wants pain? It's so confounding to me.

I change tack, using his reactions as my guide. "Why do you think I'll like it?"

"I don't know if you will with any degree of certainty but I'd absolutely like to find out. Many women are submissive without realizing it." He leans closer to me on the table, resting his remarkably excellent chin in his hand, his fingers nearly obscuring those delectable lips. Fuck but he's pretty. _Focus, Ana._

"Not men?"

"Some men, too, but most of the time it skews the other way. Perhaps our sexuality is influenced by gender roles and that's why. If so, it's unconscious, probably. I've spent a lot of time thinking on it but it's all mere speculation."

"You knew as soon as you stepped into that party that it was for you?"

"Definitely, yes. I immediately was intrigued and turned on. Irina eventually—reluctantly—agreed to help, made me submit to her before she would teach me to wield my dominance. Even she knew right away there was nothing submissive about me."

"Then why did she make you submit?"

"So that I would become a better dominant. Knowing both sides is always better. I think she may have had another motive as well."

"Such as?"

"I think she was trying to put me off the lifestyle. Irina felt as if she was corrupting me."

"Wasn't she?"

"No, Ana. I wanted it. Irina has been nothing but a force for good in my life… good to me and _for_ me."

"What about your mother?"

"What about her?"

"You said you loved her especially."

It was as if shutters were instantly closed on an open window. His face lost animation and he stared blankly at me. "I do. My mother has nothing to do with this, nothing whatsoever. She doesn't know about the way I live and she never will, if I can help it."

"So you're ashamed of it then?"

"No." He smiles stiffly but I see a spark of anger flare in his eyes. "Would you sit down and discuss with your father the things you do with your lovers?"

My cheeks burn at the mere thought. "Point taken."

The conversation is effectively ended. I get up and clear the table, and begin to wash the dishes.

"Leave it. I have staff to do those things. Come with me."

Staff? I haven't noticed any staff as yet. I wonder if they have the weekend off. I follow Christian into the great room where he points to the sofa for me, sliding into a chair opposite my seat.

Once I'm seated, he leans his arms on his knees, and reaching across, takes my hands, squeezes them, kisses them, velvet-soft brushes of his lips across my skin. "Ana, I know you're inexperienced but, still, can't you tell how good we are together? If you agree to this arrangement, it will only get better, baby. I can guarantee you that. You just need to place yourself in my capable hands." His thumbs are caressing my skin. It's both relaxing and arousing to me. All the man has to do is deign to touch me and I fall into a complacent puddle at his feet. He could probably talk me into anything, as long as he keeps touching me.

"What would we do first?" My voice is husky so I clear my throat but it accomplishes nothing. Something's stuck in there and it might just be my courage.

"I'll go slow." His hand lifts to my cheek, and his beautiful long fingers skate over my skin, from brow to jaw, giving me the shivers. I think he notices my reaction to his touch for he smiles. He's watching me, his eyes hypnotic. "Ana, I can take you to places you can't even imagine exist. All you have to do is trust me. Do you think you can do that?"

His voice is seductive and I'm unable to tear my gaze away from his piercing eyes—I barely manage to slightly shrug my shoulders in response.

Rising to his feet, he turns his head to talk as he walks away. "Here, let me give you something to read. It outlines what I expect from the exchange and what you might expect, as well." He strolls to his desk, which is just inside an adjoining room, and removes a packet of papers. _He writes the whole thing down?_

Yes, he does. He hands me the packet and I start to skim over it. Certain words catch my attention and my face must be in flames by now. Fellatio, cunnilingus, discipline, bondage… each word practically jumps off the page, right out at me. I sneak a peek up at him again.

"What do you mean by exchange?"

"Power exchange, Ana. That's what this type of relationship entails. You give me power over you. In return, I take care of you… in various ways." He grins devilishly.

Boy, but he can say so much with his eyes and that smile, that wicked, wicked smile. One look at the man and I melt into goo. I go back to scanning the paperwork. "Punishment? For what?"

"Any number of transgressions. Once you fully read the paperwork, you'll understand more."

"What does punishment entail?"

He shrugs casually but his eyes are burning with… something. "Could be spanking, could be…more hardcore."

"Hardcore? Like what Minx was getting?" I squeak out the words. I think he finds it amusing.

"Yes. Ana," he says patiently. "We would establish a series of limits—hard and soft—so that I wouldn't exceed your comfort zone by too much and you wouldn't expect anything outside of mine."

"So you would exceed my comfort zone by some?"

"Well, that's what this is all about, baby. Pushing you to your limits."

"How do I even know what my limits are?"

"Oh, baby, finding out is going to be at least half the fun."

His eyes out-and-out sparkle when he says that. He really wants this to happen between us. I'm trying to understand—is this something I need but don't realize it? Or is it only for some people and not for others? I try to think if I've ever been exposed to anything of the kind but I can't say I have. Minx told me she saw movies about it when she was a kid… and they turned her on. Minx also told me she knew she was like this when she was just a child. I guess that means that if I don't know I need it by now, then I don't. _I think._

I'm so confused.

Christian isn't confused at all. He knows what he wants and he goes after it. Right now, that _it_ is me.

"Well? Would you like to take home the paperwork and read up on it? Maybe do some online research? I assure you, there's a plethora of information on the Internet about this type of thing."

"Um… yes, I think I should. Will you wait while I decide?"

Amusement floods his features. "I want a definite answer in forty-eight hours, Ana," he says softly. It's weird but when Christian's voice goes low and soft, it's somehow way more intimidating than when others raise their voices. Paradoxical.

Staring into his alarmingly intense eyes, I go on the offensive, making a sudden lurch toward him to kiss him and he nearly jumps back, causing me to start. He takes a deep breath and smiles. "Did I startle you? I'm sorry." He leans in and kisses me.

"May I ask you a question?"

He suppresses a smile. "You just did—we've been through this before, Ms. Steele."

Ignoring him, I plow ahead. "You seem to flinch whenever I come too close to you. Why is that?"

Surprise, maybe even shock, registers in those silvery eyes before he can hide it. He pauses before answering and I begin to wonder if he will.

"Observant little thing, aren't you? I suppose I'm slightly claustrophobic…"

"Really?" I take a moment to chew on that. But… "Didn't you say you drive a tiny two-seater sportscar? Would a person who suffers from claustrophobia drive a car like that?"

For a brief instant, I see some kind of emotion animate his face but before I can identify it, he wipes it clean, _blank_ again. Christian Grey has secrets he's keeping—I just know it.

"It's a convertible," he replies easily and ends the conversation. "C'mon, I'll drive you home." He retrieves his shoes and socks from the bedroom and rings for the elevator.

That night when Kate returns to our condo, she gives me the third degree. "So you slept with Christian Grey? You finally lost your virginity?"

"How did you know…?"

Kate rolls her eyes. "Oh, Ana, it was patently obvious that you were a complete innocent. What amazed me is that you seemed to have no real interest in men other than the occasional gawk at a hottie. I knew you weren't gay or you would've hit on me, being that I'm irresistibly adorable."

I quickly interject, "So modest, too." But Kate _is_ irresistibly adorable so I really can't argue.

She leans over and affectionately pinches my cheek. "This whole debt scam ended up doing you a world of good. You meet a fabulously wealthy—and smokin' hot—CEO and you finally give up the goods." She narrows her eyes. "I must say your standards were sky-high. _I_ should have been as discriminating."

I laugh. "Why? Who'd you lose it to?"

"Oh, a high school senior when I was a junior. He was the football captain and I was a sucker for anything jock. He was a horrible lover. Two years later I ran into him… and his boyfriend."

"Well that explains it," I say. "Going after gay men is a surefire way to have lousy sex and a broken heart—if you're a woman, that is."

"Yeah, I actually felt bad that he was in such denial that he went so far as to have sex with a girl. I also felt bad for myself, that I squandered my first-time experience with someone who didn't appreciate me in the least. Oh, well."

A sparkle flares in those bright eyes of hers. "I've since made up for it."

I nod—_she has_. "Speaking of which, how is Elliot?"

"Oh no, you don't, Missy." She walks over to the sofa where I'm sitting and curling her leg under her, sits down. "I want all the gory details. Did you come?"

"What?" I know my face has turned all shades of red and purple.

"Did. You. Come?"

"Kate! That's private."

"Ana, I'm your best friend and I tell you everything. It's only fair that you reciprocate. Is Christian all that?"

I cast my eyes down and feel myself smile slyly. "Oh, he's that and more. Yes, to answer your question. More than once."

"No! Really? Well, well, well. So he looks that good, has that much money, _and _knows his way around a vagina?"

I roll my eyes. "Kate, why do you have to always take it to a disgusting level?"

"What's disgusting about the word vagina? We both have one, don't we? Anyway, back to what I was saying—all in all, pretty good deal you're getting."

_Yes, well, not entirely_, I think… 'course I can't tell Kate about the whole BDSM thing since I signed a CA specifically prohibiting it. Fervently I wish I could, because I'm so confused about it. Minx suddenly pops into my mind. Speaking with Minx wouldn't violate anything since I'd be asking about her experience, not anyone else's. I'll call her. On the tail of that thought, I remember that I don't have Minx's phone number. Shit. I'll have to call Irina. I realize Kate's still talking so I try to focus on what she's saying.

"…most women can only come during oral sex. So…?"

"So what?" I ask with burning cheeks.

"Is that how he pulled it off?"

"Kate, no more sharing—it's too private. Do you want to tell me intimate details of your time with Elliot?"

Sticking out her tongue, she glowers at me, and I have to giggle. Kate trying to look mean is like a kitten that fluffs out its fur to look tough. "Fine! I'll show you how it's done. Elliot has an insane body, major six-pack and pecs to die for… _and_ has a huge dick to boot. Plus, he knows how to use it—he can last forever if he wants to, Ana… and that's a handy talent, trust me."

The look of satisfaction on her face is nearly hilarious. "Oh, Kate," I say affectionately and get up to give her a hug.

"Now will you tell me about Christian?" she whines.

"No. I'm going to bed now. Love you." I skip down the hall before she can catch up and badger me further. Now Kate's on full alert, though, so I'll have to watch my step.

He gives me three days.

The first day I spend reading all of the paperwork he gave me. Merely reading it mortifies the hell out of me. Can I really _do_ these things? And does anything embarrass Mr. Grey? I mean, he uses graphic detail about a cornucopia of sexual acts in these pages and handed them to me without batting an eye.

The second day, I surf the Internet, doing research. Boy, was he right. There are hundreds of sites that provide a wealth of information on anything kinky. I'm certainly more educated on the dark side of sex than I ever thought or wanted to be. Part of me is intrigued and wanting to go further. The rest of me wants to run away and never look back.

The third day I spend inside my head, wondering why I couldn't meet a regular kind of guy who has no desire to tie me down and whip me. Why me? It seems as if the moment Grey set eyes on me he zeroed in on me as a submissive. Yet, I'm not one.

Yet… can I be sure of that if I don't try it? He thinks I am one. That thought leads me to dwell on his past submissives. Who are they? Does he still see any of them? Perhaps I should ask him. Taking out my phone, I call Irina.

"Ana! It's wonderful to hear from you. Mr. Chinaski tells me you want out of your contract now that you've fulfilled the minimum requirements. Is that true?"

"Well," I stammer, "I-I, um, I guess so. I like Kent; I'd like to go out with Kent… but Mr. _Chinaski_ prefers that I don't."

"Yes, and Mr. Chinaski must be heeded, after all. Are you having fun with him?"

Do I tell her? If Christian wants her to know anything, he'll tell her himself. I decide to be vague. "Um, he's a great guy: easy on the eyes, fascinating conversationalist. Um, Irina? Could you possibly give me Minx's phone number? I forgot to get it in all the… we'll call it excitement… that night."

"I'll send Minx a text with your telephone number and leave it up to her. Okay?"

"Yes, Irina. Thank you… for everything."

"You are so welcome, my dear. I'm only sorry to lose you for we could have made a nice bundle together. If you're ever in need again, you can always come back into the fold."

"Thank you, Irina. Goodbye."

An hour later my cell phone buzzes. "Hello?"

"Hey, Ana. It's Minx. Irina said you wanted to talk to me?"

"Yes. Hi Minx! Is it possible to meet me for coffee?"

"I have to meet someone for lunch at two. What time is it now?"

"It's eleven-twenty. Can you meet me in an hour? That will give us at least a half hour to chat."

"Where?"

"You're downtown, right? How about the Starbucks in the University district?"

"Yes, I can do that. See you at twelve-thirty and if you get there first, order me a half-caf skinny vanilla latte."

"You got it. See you later."

Turns out Minx gets there first and orders me a latte. She flags me down from a corner table as I swish through the door. Good thing, too, because the line is stupidly long. Undoing my silk scarf, I make my way over to her.

"Minx! You're a peach for meeting me on such short notice."

Her huge smile lifts my spirits immediately. "No prob. I was so glad to hear from you. How've you been?

"Good. I think I'm done with the escort business but I'm not supposed to talk about it."

"No? What did you want to talk to me about then?"

Damn it, I feel the blood rush to my face. I have to stop announcing to the world how bloody innocent I am. Minx sees my reaction and gives me a knowing grin. "Oh, I think I know. You want to ask about my time on the St. Andrew's cross?"

I bob my head. "I'm so obvious it's pathetic. Um… you told me you knew you were into that kind of thing since you were a kid."

Minx nods and waits for me to continue.

"Is it like that for everyone, do you know? Or do some people come to it later in life?"

"Later in life? As in age twenty-two?" At my mortified look, she laughs. "Ana, are you asking me if you might enjoy that kind of thing?"

"Um… I guess so. Honestly, Minx? I don't know what I'm asking you. I never had any inclination to explore something like that but…"

"But now you do? Or perhaps more correctly, someone else wants you to. Look, Ana, Irina makes us all sign NDAs so we can't discuss particulars but I can imagine what… or who… is motivating you, and between you and me, I'd say, hypothetically, of course, he's more than worth it."

I feel myself blush. Does she _personally_ know Christian? Suddenly I have to know but I'm smart enough to choose my words carefully. "Um, the hypothetical _he_ in that sentence is someone you personally know?"

Her eyes fill with mirth. "Know in the biblical sense, you mean?

I nod reluctantly.

"No, sweetie, I don't. But I sure wish I did for that hypothetical _he_ is dee-licious with a capital D."

Yes, he is but I need to move off the topic of Christian Grey because I'm already too possessive of him. "I've been doing research on BDSM and I have to admit, it both intrigues me and terrifies me."

"The terrifying part is fun, though, isn't it? I mean, think about it. It's part of human nature to love to be terrified. It's why we go to scary movies and go on heart-stopping rides… extreme sports… tall buildings, high speeds, whatever gets our pulse racing. Adrenaline rushes—the ultimate high." She reaches over and grabs my hand. "Look, Ana, for most people who explore BDSM, the scariest part is finding a partner to trust, someone worthy of that trust. In your case, you've got that covered: your hypothetical _he_ is a very trustworthy and expert master. I can assure you of that. Just give it a go. If you have any questions, I'm here to answer them for you. If it's not for you, you'll know it soon enough. If you don't try, you'll regret it for the rest of your days. You're only young once, girlfriend. Go for it."

Master? That's a bit hard to swallow but… I know she's right about trying it. We take a couple of minutes to drink our coffee and people watch. I know she has to leave, so I say thank you and give Minx a big hug goodbye and set off for home, my decision made. I am going to go for it… or for _him_, more specifically.

That night Christian calls me.

I answer the phone call from the unfamiliar number on the first ring. "Hello?"

"Hello back."

"Hey, handsome."

A moment of silence ensues. Then I hear a small chuckle. "Well, that's a nice greeting. How are you, Ana?"

"I'm good. I miss you."

More silence. "You miss me? That's quite nice to hear, as well." He clears his throat, pauses a beat and then goes directly to the heart of the matter. "Have you made your decision, Ana?"

"I think so… but I'd like to meet with you again to discuss a few concerns. I didn't think it prudent to put such stuff in an email, given your reputation to uphold. If that's okay?"

"Not only is it okay but it's advisable. I'd like to take you out to dinner. Are you available Friday night?"

"I have an interview at four uptown on Friday but I'm free after that."

"What kind of interview?"

"Uh, a job interview?"

"Oh? Where?

I hesitate. Christian's got so much power in the business world and I don't want him to influence anyone either on or against my behalf. He's waiting patiently. "It's an entry-level position at a digital animation company," I admit finally.

"Interesting, yet you didn't answer my question."

Sheesh, he's so semantically anal. "It's called Digital Canvas."

"I've heard of the company—small but making great strides. I believe I read the company recently landed a prestigious Hollywood job, doing special effects for a big-budget feature film. Well, good for you. I wish you luck, Ana."

"Thanks. So will the timing work for you?"

"Yes. That firm is less than two blocks from my office. Why don't you come to me when you're done and we'll head out from there?"

"Come to your office? Um… okay."

"Very good. I'm calling you now from my personal cell number. You may reach me at this number on Friday. Until then, Ms. Steele."

"Yes. See you then." I disconnect and stare into space, thinking about this man. He gave me his personal cell number, he's made love to me twice, and he took me to his parents' home. It seems, at least on the surface, that he truly does like me. Yet it could be that he only wants me for kinky sex. I hate to do it, but I might have to actually speak to one of his former submissives. I don't want to, but since I'm prohibited from speaking to anyone else about him, I may have little choice. I decide to ask him Friday night.

By the time Friday rolls around, I've compiled a sheet of questions for Mr. Grey. One of them concerns how I would have to address him. When Minx called him a master, it left a bad taste in my mouth. Would he expect me to call him that word? I might have a very hard time doing so.

For my job interview, I bought a new outfit. Fortunately with the money I made from the escort service—and Christian actually paid Irina for the date, not the sex—I was able to splurge and it was a nice change not shopping by price tag. How does one dress for a job like that? It's a young, hip company and the job is artistic in nature… but if I show up in some black Goth kind of outfit, what kind of image would that project? After carefully considering it and bringing Kate along with me, we decided on a relatively short Hugo Boss black pencil skirt, a very pale blue linen button down shirt with a flared waistline and three-quarter sleeves by Donna Karan, black silk stockings and killer shoes. The shoes, of course, cost more than the rest of the outfit combined.

"Shoes make the woman, Ana. Don't forget that," Kate insisted in a no-nonsense tone, in convincing me to buy them. "Now you don't have to borrow mine anymore because these are epic."

"Oh, I'll still borrow yours," I said, grinning. Kate's used to me shopping in her closet and she's such a good sport about it.

"Well, I might just have to lean on you for these babies then."

I hugged her with my one free arm. "You're welcome to them if you can pry them off of my cold, dead feet."

Giggling we headed over to the French pastry shop for macarons. Sugar puts back what shopping takes out—at least that's been our experience.

Now it's Friday and I'm getting ready for my interview. Am I crazy but I'm more worried about showing up at Christian's office than I am about my interview. I want to put my best foot forward if Christian is planning to introduce me as his friend or maybe even his date. I'm anxious to find out, actually.

I wonder if he's dated any of the women who work for him. I tend to doubt it because Christian is too smart a businessman to do something so unwise. Still, it's almost a certainty that some of the women there have proprietary feelings for the gorgeous man and I'll be stepping on their toes. I need to shore up my defenses.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: I'm not sure how to spell out a groan but I'm groaning now. I got a PM from someone who told me to stop this story because she doesn't like my characters, nor the original FSoG characters. What a monumental ego. One person doesn't like it; almost 400 do but I should stop it for her. At least she had the gumption to sign her name. Listen, I had to make a decision whether or not to include the BDSM in this story. I also wanted to give y'all a sexy chapter for V-Day. It's not what it seems; there'a a little manipulation here. But, hey, what the hell is wrong with a woman wanting to be dominated sexually? Feminism and sexual kink are not mutually exclusive. I happen to be an alpha female and here's my dirty little secret: I think dominant males in the bedroom are smokin' hot. Don't like it? Well, I guess we won't be friends. Oh, well. Fortunately, I seem to be in good company without you since I have lots of friends here. Leave us to our dirty fun and go read some Naomi Wolf. For God's sake, I don't want to fight; I just want to have some fun to escape the tortures of RL.

Chapter 11

The interview goes beautifully. Roger Cain, the head of the motion graphics department where I'll be working as a junior animator if I get the job, is a young guy, probably about thirty at most, and he's laidback and cool. He looks at my resume, asks me a few questions about school and my interests, and then asks when I could start. I almost expected him to offer me the job on the spot but he doesn't. I suppose he has more applicants scheduled to interview.

Will I take the job if it's offered to me? Probably. It seems like a fun job and though I'd rather do something with writing or editing, I think digital effects is way more lucrative an employment avenue. Plus, the people there all look like fun and I won't have to dress in stuffy suits and other boring conservative clothing. The starting salary is nothing to write home about but I should be able to meet my monthly bills adequately—as long as I stay away from the shops Kate and I visited this past week.

I'm finished filling out the applications and interviewing with the HR person by ten to five. Wishing the receptionist at Digital Canvas good evening, I set out for Grey & Co., Inc. It's a seductive spring evening, the kind when the air is silky and fresh and it strokes over raw nerves like magic fingers. I'm scanning for the address when I see only a huge building up ahead. I check the address again. Weird. It's on this side of the street yet there's only the giant skyscraper up ahead. Surely that can't be Christian's company building?

When I pass the last building on this block, I'm certain that the monstrous building is Christian's. He must lease some floors in the building since he can't possibly own the whole thing. Can he? Just how successful a businessman is he?

When I get to the front, I look up and there's the address number 350. Just above the stenciled number is a stone cornice with the name Grey carved into it. I almost stagger backward.

Mustering my resolve, I shove through the heavy revolving door and am immediately confronted by a low sleek rosewood desk shaped in a semicircle like a letter U. A young blonde woman and a sandy-haired man sit there together, both with headsets on. There are exquisite white and purple orchids on each side of the desk.

"Hello. How may I help you?" The young woman looks at me brightly.

"Oh, hello. I'm here to see Christian Grey?"

She doesn't even try to hide her surprise. "Mr. Grey? Do you have an appointment, Miss?"

"He's expecting me," I answer quickly.

Now the young man jumps in. "Miss, might I have your name, please?"

"Surely. Ana Steele."

He's scanning a screen in front of him. "I'm sorry, Miss Steele, but I do not show an appointment for you. You're going to have to contact Mr. Grey's assistant to set up an appointment to see him."

I roll my eyes and sigh. "As I've mentioned, Mr. Grey is expecting me. Now, if you don't mind, please phone him and inform him that Ana Steele is here. That's _Ms_. Steele. Thank you." Even though I sound haughty, my whole body is trembling with nerves. These people are treating me like I'm holding a tin cup or something. Imagine if I weren't dressed up as I am, and in my usual outfit of blue jeans, scuffed boots or shoes, and a little t-shirt? They'd probably toss me out the door.

The perfect blonde looks merely annoyed but the young male seems to know enough to do some checking before taking further action. He presses a button. "Yes, Sylvia? There's a Ms. Ana Steele here claiming that Mr. Grey is expecting her? Thank you." He put snotty emphasis on the _Ms_.

I'm watching his face as he waits for confirmation. Whatever she says to him makes him sit up straighter and he turns to me, all sweetness and light. "Ms. Steele, you may go up. Mr. Grey's office is on the 23rd floor. Please use the elevator bank to your right. Thank you."

Offering them a curt thank-you, I spin on my high heels and click my way to the elevators. I don't like those two because they made me feel bad about myself. No sooner do I press the button than the elevator doors swish open.

I enter the sleek elevator car and just before the doors close, a tall man slips between them.

"Good afternoon," he says, smiling warmly.

I return the sentiment in a soft voice and notice he's going to the same floor as I am. We ride up quietly; I stare straight ahead but I can feel his eyes on me. When we reach our floor, he allows me to step out first. Getting my bearings, I see a low-slung glass reception table with yet another blonde with a headset. I head over in her direction, Mr. Tall and Friendly in pursuit.

"Hello. Ana Steele to see Mr. Grey?"

This time I'm greeted with a degree of courtesy. "Yes, Ms. Steele. Please have a seat. Mr. Grey will be with you shortly. May I offer you anything? We have iced water, coffee, or tea?"

"No, thank you." I sit down as far away from her as possible, which is not far at all. I can hear the man say in a hushed tone, "Who's in with him?"

The woman answers in a similar low voice. "Palmieri and Johnson. He's trying to wind up the meeting but he said you should go right in if you made it in time."

The man doesn't say anything in response but cocks his head and must have somehow gestured or made a face for the blonde replies in a very subdued voice. "I don't know." I can see her arch her brows in a perplexed expression.

I know they're talking about me and I'm feeling massively uncomfortable. How can they be so rude? Finally the guy goes into Christian's office.

Despite the fact that the blonde keeps busy, I feel bristling tension stretching across the room, from her desk to my chair. It what seems an eternity but is probably about seven minutes, the double doors to Christian's office again open and out files the Tall and Friendly, another older man, a short-haired thirtyish woman, and my dark-haired beauty bringing up the rear. He catches my eye and gives me a dazzling smile.

"By Tuesday, Grey. We'll have it ironed out and ready." This, from the older man who looks kind of like George Clooney but not as pretty.

"Good." The three stride past the blonde and nod to her like an assembly line, continuing to the elevator. Before they get there, they all glance at me and smile blandly. I return it perfunctorily. Meantime, Christian walks directly over to where I sit and offers me his hand.

"Hello, Ana. Come into my office for a moment." He glances at his… whatever she is… I suppose his administrative assistant. "Heather, hold all calls, no exceptions. Thank you."

She looks startled and I see her glance toward the elevator. I so desperately want to turn around to enjoy the looks on their faces but I can't do it inconspicuously. The petty part of me wants to stick out my tongue at their smug superiority. _That's right, he's mine, asswipes_. But I'd never really say that. Never hurts to think it though, while imagining them in their tighty-whities.

As soon as he closes the door, he enfolds me in his arms and kisses me: first soft grazes with his warm lips and then his hot tongue slides into my mouth, making my innards slide lower in my body. _Damn. It_. He does things to me.

"How are you?" He asks as he finally breaks away, only to bury his nose in my hair. He loves to do that, I think.

"I'm good," I say breathily. Why oh why is he so gut-wrenchingly handsome? He's smiling down at me, his full lips glistening from our kiss, his perfect nose… there… on his face, his mesmerizing sterling eyes… _focus, Ana_. "Are you almost ready to leave?"

"I am…" he says slowly, his eyes beginning to twinkle with devilry, "but I was thinking how much I'd like to fuck you over my desk. What do you think?"

I peek around him to check it out. "It's made of glass."

"It's very sturdy, I assure you."

"Um. I thought we were going to talk."

"Baby, there's always time to talk but there's not always an office in the sky to fuck in."

"But this is your office, so there is."

"Logic is so overrated at times." He sighs. "Okay, you win for the moment. Let's go get an early dinner and if everything goes my way, we'll go to my place from there." He waggles his eyebrows and rubs his hands together like a cartoon villain. I laugh, really laugh for the first time in I don't know how long and the floodgates crash open. I can't stop and I don't know why. It wasn't that funny. Before long, he joins me. By the time we exit his office, I'm out of breath and my stomach hurts but I feel as light as cotton candy.

Mmm, cotton candy.

Christian takes me to a small café where he proceeds to order us both dinner. Even though we each only want a glass of wine, he orders a bottle since the wine he wants isn't served by the glass. While we eat, we talk.

"So? Questions?"

I look around me at the crowded dining room. "Not much privacy here."

"No, but it was close and quick and I'm anxious to get you home. No one can hear us, Ana. Tell me what's troubling you."

"Punishment."

He sits back as his eyes widen. "Specifically what about it?"

"Pretty much everything. I'm afraid of doing something that requires it and I'm really afraid of how much it will hurt."

"I'll go over all of my rules thoroughly so you know exactly what transgressions will warrant a punishment and you can accordingly avoid them. As for pain, there will be some but not more than you can take. We'll build up to it in intensity, Ana, I promise."

"Is it possible to just take if off the table completely?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I need it."

"You need it… or want it?"

"Both."

"Would you like being punished?"

Both brows arch and his pupils appear to contract, making him look stern. "I have been."

"Interesting yet you didn't answer the question," I comment dryly, echoing his words from earlier in the week.

He scowls and shakes his head but doesn't answer. I prod "And?"

"And," he snarls, "I didn't care for it. Such is life."

I stop talking. He's getting mad at me and I'm starting to feel defensive. This punishment slash discipline thing is scaring me off. The kinky sex is intimidating enough but I'm pretty sure I can do that if he needs it; I know I can. The punishment thing, though, really wigs me out. I've never been hit before, not by my parents or anyone else. What confounds me most is the paradoxical element: if he genuinely likes me, why would he enjoy inflicting pain on me? It seems counterintuitive.

His commanding voice breaks into my reverie. "Finish eating, Ana, and we'll continue our talk at my place."

"I'm finished."

"Eating?"

I nod.

"You've barely eaten anything!"

"_I am finished_," I say slowly, enunciating every word as if speaking to an imbecile. I feel my anger rising at his imperious attitude and I sense this night is not going to end well.

He rolls his eyes. Last time I did it, he told me that eye-rolling was a punishable transgression but he does it often himself. Mr. Grey seems to maintain a double standard.

The bottle of Pinot Noir is nearly full. Christian glances around and sees an older couple at the table next to us. They each have a wine glass that holds some remnants of red wine. He leans over toward the pair. "Excuse me?"

They both look up with friendly eyes.

"Forgive me for intruding on your dinner. My friend and I ordered a bottle of this fine wine and won't be finishing it. Would you care to have it?"

The woman smiles and the man nods his head. "Thank you. That's very kind and we'll be happy to take if off your hands."

Christian smiles and hands him the bottle. "To your health."

He's already paid the tab so he stands and extends his hand to me. "Come, Ana. It's time to go.

Part of me thinks I should go home, not give in, make some kind of a stand for myself. Imagining how that will play out stays my hand, however. He might just say forget it, that I'm too much trouble. One thing that Christian had written in his rules that made my blood run cold was that, though both parties reserve the right to terminate the arrangement for any reason at any time, if the submissive chooses to do so it is an irrevocable action. Mr. Grey obviously tolerates no fickle women in his life.

I know I haven't known him for very long, but I don't want to lose him. Is it possible that I've fallen in love with him so quickly? Just looking at his darling face makes my heart pound faster. When he smiles, the earth sits properly on its axis. When I'm with him, I feel as if anything is possible.

Yes, I think I do love him. So I place my hand in his warm, comforting one and allow him to take me home.

…..

He holds my head in both of his hands: I can't move an inch. His gaze is like a surgeon's scalpel, slicing into my soul with the utmost precision and finesse. If I didn't think it impossible, I'd say he's looking at me with love or something akin to it.

"Ana," he whispers, "I've wanted you back in my bed since the moment you left it. Did you know that I've never let any woman share my bed before you?"

I clutch his wrists, lost in those eyes—it's akin to being sucked into a powerful vortex. "You told me that. Why me?"

"I simply don't know. You're beautiful, charming, intelligent, and exceedingly entertaining. Yet, I don't think it's any of those things, oddly enough. There's something about you—your soul, spirit, animus, something—that speaks so clearly to me. Oh, and there's another thing, too."

"Oh?" I'm barely breathing.

"Yes, I happen to want to tie you down so tightly you can't possibly escape me or even move an inch, and fuck you raw… and suck you sore, until you scream and beg for mercy… or more. That's the other thing, Ana."

He's managing to keep a straight face despite peering directly into my scarlet one. Just hearing him say those words has made my knees weaken and other things shift form, to put it nicely—dry things get wet, wet things go dry, some things tighten, others shake loose. It's like a carnival happening inside my body, all from hearing dirty words whispered in a husky baritone voice, with molten silver eyes, half-lidded, boring into mine. _Damn. It._

"Yes, there's that…" I mutter. "Maybe we should give it another go before we make any life-altering decisions?"

"Oh, no, Ms. Steele. I want you in my special room upstairs, tonight. _Now_." He brushes his lips against mine and smirks. "Exactly how brave are you?"

"Is brave the appropriate adjective?" I'm hoping that stupid or desperate don't fit better.

"Do you trust me?"

"I think so, yes." As soon as the words leave my lips, I realize that I actually do trust him implicitly even though I barely know him. It seems reckless but there it is. And even if I didn't trust him, Kate knows who I'm with and where I am so he can't murder me or beat me senseless without threat of exposure.

He smiles and kisses my forehead, proceeding to lead me by the hand up the stairs to his dungeon. _Dungeon_. Oh, God, I'm in for it.

He speaks quietly to me as we walk. "Let's try it this once. I realize you haven't yet given me a definite answer but perhaps a trial would be beneficial. After all, you're so very inexperienced at all of it, even plain old vanilla sex. This way, you'll have a clearer idea of what I'm about and you can make a more informed decision."

Currently incapable of articulation, I bob my head in agreement. When we reach the doors, he punches in a code on the keypad and the door clicks open. "Though we won't do anything too extreme, Ana, I'm going to treat you like I would any submissive so you get a clear picture of my expectations.

He moves to the side and gestures with his arm. "After you."

I step in and hear the door close behind us. HIs hands drop heavily on my shoulders, turning me to face him, and I just now notice he's still in his suit. It looks wrong in here and I wonder if he'll change… or perhaps get naked. That would be nice.

"Ana, pay attention," he says, staring intently into my eyes. Right before me, he begins to undergo a subtle but definite physical change. His stature becomes more erect so he looks bigger, taller, His face appears more angular—it must be the dim lighting in the room but he looks harsher. His chest expands. No trace of good humor can be found on his face.

Holy fuck: this is dominant Christian and he's radioactive hot.

"First off, you must address me as sir or master within these walls. No exceptions. Requiring repeated reminders is a punishable offense."

My breath hitches and I see recognition of my reaction in the flare of his irises. Yet he doesn't back down a micro-inch nor does he seem to expect any protest from me. I bite my lip to keep from blurting out a refusal.

"Second, while we're in here, you should always be on your knees. I will show you the kneeling position once you're appropriately dressed… or undressed as the case may be. Strip now."

I gape at him, waiting for a smile or something to show he's kidding. _He's not_. He just continues to watch me, waiting for me to obey. I step back and begin to remove my clothes. I still have on the same outfit I wore to my interview. As I pull off each garment, he takes it from me, folding it neatly and placing it on a chair in the corner. When I'm down to undergarments and shoes, he stops me.

"Normally, you'll be naked in here unless otherwise directed. Tonight, however, I'd like you to leave on your stockings and shoes. For now you may also leave on your panties but the bra comes off."

Without taking my eyes off his, I reach around and undo the hooks. The bra drops and as my breasts spill out, his eyes slide down off my face. "Very pretty. I love puffy nipples," he says, reaching out a finger to touch, "they're the softest thing I've ever felt, bar none." I always hated that about my breasts but he seems to really appreciate them.

"Follow me," he says, striding into a dark corner next to the door. He points to the floor. "This is your place to kneel when you are awaiting me. Drop down to your knees now and I will position your body correctly."

I walk over shakily and drop down slowly. When my knees hit the cold hardwood floor, I look up for further direction. As scary as all of this is, I know I'm physically excited, perhaps more than I've ever been in my life with the exception of last weekend when I lost my virginity to the most spectacular man on the planet.

"I realize it's hard to sit on your feet when you're wearing heels, so I'll take off your shoes for a moment so you can learn the position." He proceeds to slip them off, then he gently kicks my knees apart, pushing down on my shoulders until I'm sitting on my feet. "Keep your shoulders erect but bow your head, eyes cast down. Your hands rest on your thighs, palms up. Nearly every part of you is visually accessible in this way. Understand, Ana?"

I nod.

"Always answer verbally so no miscommunication results."

"Yes, I understand."

He says nothing and I wait. And wait. Finally I peek up at him.

"I'm waiting for the proper address, Ana."

Oops. "Yes, sir. I understand," I say quickly.

He pivots on the balls of his feet, walking to the other side of the room. Is he angry that I forgot the address? Or maybe he wants me to call him master. I really don't think I can do that. It's a bit much to ask of me.

I can't see what he's doing since my eyes are on the floor and I suddenly understand why this position is used: by not being able to see what's coming, it increases the anxiety, probably exponentially. Right now my senses are hyper-aware of every tiny thing: the citrus smell of polished wood, the shiny cool hardwood floor under my knees, the air charged with tension or perhaps there's a strong electromagnetic field or something—everything seems magnified no matter how subtle. I hear what sounds like the door closing.

Has he left me alone in here? I wait, forcing myself to stay in place, my ears attuned to any potential sound but I hear nothing. I now understand why absolute silence is often described as loud. My ears do not pick up even the slightest rustle or movement of air. Minutes stretch into what feels like hours but I know it's not and I finally hear the door reopen. He sails past but I can only see the lower half of him. He now wears jeans and his feet are bare. God, his feet are sexy.

I dare to take a lightning-fast peek up and I see him wave his hand past an iPod dock and music comes on. Quickly he finds what he wants and turns toward me. I dart my eyes down just in time to escape notice. The volume of the music recedes as the thunder of blood pounding in my ears increases. Inhaling deep breaths, I begin to calm and hear strains of some operatic music but I can't identify the composition—it might be from Carmen. My mom would know, right off the bat.

It's as if he's forgotten I'm here. He strides over to the other side of the large room and I hear drawers or cabinets open and close, the rustle of plastic wrap, other sounds I can't immediately identify. What the hell is he doing?

Finally, his feet walk into my field of vision.

"Stand, please."

I rise to my feet, somewhat unsteadily.

"I expect you to master kneeling and rising so you can do it with perfect grace. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." I blush at my ineptitude and then wonder why I'm embarrassed that I'm imperfect at subservience. Sheesh.

"Follow me," he says curtly and turns, walking over to the center of the floor. "Your wrists, please?"

I pause for a tiny second before obeying and he snaps at me, "Do not hesitate!"

Quickly I place my hands in his large one and he buckles soft leather cuffs on each wrist, then hooks them together and hoists them over my head where he attaches them to a chain suspended from that ever so odd ceiling. He tightens all the slack out of the chain so my arms are stretched tautly.

"How is that? Feel comfortable enough?"

"It's not comfortable… sir. But it's not uncomfortable either."

"Very good." He takes something out of his back pocket and produces it in front of my nose with a flourish. "This little pretty is called a flogger. It can feel very nice or very naughty. Tonight it will only feel nice, Ana, no pain. Okay?"

"Yes."

Oh, God, I forgot. "Sir! Yes, sir."

"Good girl. Now, we need to decide on a safe word. Red is a standard one, with yellow being an alarm. If you say yellow, I pay closer attention. If you say red, everything stops. However, we can use any word you prefer."

"Red is fine, sir." I lick my lips, wanting to get this over and done with. The man in this room is not the same man I've come to like and possibly love. In this room he's sexier than fuck but also sort of mean and definitely not cuddly and affectionate. I'm having a hard time reconciling this Christian with the one I want to be with.

He takes something out of his other back pocket and I see it's a blindfold. He places it over my eyes and ties it securely in back. "The blindfold will allow you to focus more on the tactile sensations rather than other stimuli. It also helps us shed inhibitions for some reason—if you can't see the bad thing coming at you, you can't worry about it as much, I suppose. Now," his lips move directly to my ear and the heat of his breath flows over my face, "I want you to stay perfectly still and absorb all the different sensations. If you move, you dissipate intensity. Can you remain stock-still for me, Ana? It would please me very much."

"Yes, sir, I will stay still."

"Good." He kisses my temple and I hear nothing but the music. I cannot even orient him in his place so I never know from what direction the flogger is coming. First, it comes at me from the rear, marching all over first my upper thighs, then my rear end, and up my back to my shoulders. It begins whisper soft but as time goes on…and the music grows stronger, the strands hit harder. Without any warning, the suede strands come from a different direction and are flung against my breasts—not savagely but enough to produce a sting. He keeps at it, the rhythm hypnotic, until my breasts feel so swollen they're likely to split open, at which point he moves down to my belly. It's amazing how unerring he is—at the precise moment when I feel I can't take another lick, he moves on. How does he do that?

I hear him throw something on the floor near my feet. The flogger? Suddenly a different flogger is making its way up my inner thighs. I know it's different because it's smaller and there aren't as many strands. This one has something hard on the tips—not metal or anything that hard but perhaps pieces of leather or something. I think I know where this is leading since he begins at the inside of my ankles and going back and forth between both legs, keeps stinging each side, one after the other as he works his way up.

Oh, God, I want him to get there so badly—I _need_ him to get there. I have a suddenly desperate need to come. He's been working his way to this but I was so distracted by the novelty of everything that I didn't realize the state I am in until now when I've reached a crisis point.

He's up to my knees now and I wish I could hurry him.

"Shall I let you come?"

Embarrassed, I squeeze my eyes under the blindfold.

"Answer me, Ana, or I will withhold the orgasm for the rest of the night. Shall I make you come with the flogger?"

"Yes, sir." My voice is a strangled whisper.

"I'm not sure you deserve it."

I feel him moving the chain above my head and then there's slack.

"Kneel," he says and I think I know what's coming next. I wanted to try this but I was afraid he'd think me way too forward. Now he's giving me no choice so I don't have to worry. Sure enough, I feel his finger at my lips, pushing them open. "Keep your hands on your legs. Don't bite," he says playfully and then slowly pushes himself into my mouth.

I'm not sure what to do but he cradles my head in his hand and directs me. I try different things but I don't know what he likes. I hear him crouch in front of me and he takes my hand and inserts my finger into his mouth, sucking on it lightly, then harder, moving it in and out of his mouth once it's nice and wet. He pulls it out.

"Try it that way." His voice is hungry with lust and it spurs me on. I do to him exactly what he did to my finger, and he threads his fingers through my hair and moans. Every deep, sexy moan pushes me further until I get so enthusiastic that I gag. He pulls out to give me a moment and thrusts right back in, even deeper, setting off my gag reflex again. "Control it," he says, expecting me to, obviously, as he plunges in again. This time, I actually manage to control it. After just a few more swings, he pulls out and lifts me to my feet, tightening the chains again.

"I think you do deserve it," he says and begins with the flogger again. This time he doesn't stop. He begins at my ankles on the inside of my legs and steadily works his way up. There's no teasing, just a forward progression. When he reaches my thighs I break out in sweat, feeling as if every part of my body is straining to get that flogger at the right spot. Inches away, I'm waiting and waiting, he's getting closer and closer. When it comes, I'm not expecting the sheer intensity of the hit. It's a hot sharp pain that explodes into a brutal kind of pleasure. There's nothing sweet about it. The orgasm rips through me like a lightning bolt and I can't stop the scream from tearing out of my throat. Before I'm even through coming, he lifts me off my feet, disengages the chains, and pulls me to the high bench, bending me over, and burying himself inside me with one deep thrust of his hips.

God, at first it's so painful but I'm so ready that the pain doesn't detract too much from the lust. In a moment I've acclimated to him. He's holding my hands down on the edge of the bench with his own and using them as leverage to hammer away. I'm kind of new at this for him to be so rough but I like it. I want to hear him come.

He reaches around and cups me between my legs, beginning to play with me again. I'm so sensitive from my climax but he doesn't seem to know or care. He just keeps at it until I'm ready again. I feel my body climbing higher, falling into that feeling again and just as I'm at the lip, the very edge, he painfully pinches me, holds it a moment, and then releases. With the release I slam into my orgasm so hard, falling even further when I hear him say _Fuck, Ana_, and then jerk violently inside me. We both collapse onto the leather bench and I realize that my whole body is trembling and I'm soaking wet from head to toe.

I think I like this kind of thing. I think Christian knows it, too.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: For this chapter my note will be found at the end of the update so no spoilers are revealed.

Chapter 12

"Ana, wake up."

The voice is an insistent whisper.

I pry open my eyes and Christian is standing over me, his hand caressing my forehead, brushing my hair out of my face. "You were having quite a dream. I wasn't sure if it was a nightmare or not, so I erred on the side of caution. Was it?"

I sit up and look around me, disoriented. I'm in Christian's bed and the room is dim and quiet. "Um, how did I get _here_?"

He looks at me with amused eyes. "You fell asleep in the car on the way home from the restaurant. I managed to wake you enough to walk into the apartment but then you conked out again on the sofa. I carried you into my bedroom."

I grab my head. "What? Didn't… didn't we go into your… um… special room?"

He rears back in surprise, his mouth dropping open. "No, we did not. Was that what your dream was about?" He smiles now and his eyes shine, intrigued.

My face burns hot—red-hot. "I guess I thought we were in there." God, it seemed so real—all the sensory nuance, the expressions on his face, the tone of his voice. That erotic novel Minx slipped into my coat pocket must be responsible for my subconscious fantasy. It was very… detailed and educational. By the time I finished it the very night she gave it to me, I had to take a bracingly cold shower.

He gently strokes my face. "No, Ana. We were not."

"In my sleep I went in there with you…" Should I tell him the rest? "We… um… had fun."

"Did we now?"

I nod and clear my throat. "Yes, I think we should try it."

Once again I realize that cause and effect rules our lives and the universe in general. The cause this time? My words of encouragement for Christian to introduce me to his world. The following effect is immediate and distressing: it's almost as if a wall is erected over his eyes and around his emotions, obscuring them protectively from my scrutiny. It's not the first time he's done it, either. It seems Christian Grey has secrets he's not willing to share with me… or perhaps with anyone.

He's still looking at me, mind you, but his eyes are flat, having lost all animation. He might as well be reading an office memo.

"Hmm."

His hands are also still on me—my face and my hair. Christian is tactile, I've noticed, always reaching out to touch things he likes. At least, I _think_ he likes me. He starts to speak again and I try to focus on what he's saying.

"While you were sleeping… and I was watching you slumber in all your appealing innocence, I experienced a change of heart." He cocks his head, his blank eyes trained on me, watching my response. "An attack of conscience might be a more apt description. I don't think I can lead you down that dark path, baby. It wouldn't be right."

My brain, sluggish from sleep, is trying to decipher if what he's saying is good or bad. "But you said it's the only kind of relationship you have…?"

Even in the low lamplight, I can see his eyes darken yet they remain inscrutable.

"Yes."

"So… no us, then? Are you telling me good-bye so soon?" Even though I say it, I still expect him to refute it.

The long pause before he answers ratchets up my anxiety. This isn't looking good for me. "I don't want to, Ana… but I think it's for the best."

My chest hurts: there must be an elephant sitting on it because the pressure is enormous and painful. "For whose best?"

"Yours, of course."

"_Please_. If you want out of this… " I gesture with my hand, almost decking him in the process… "whatever it is we have—I'm not sure what to call it—that's your prerogative. But don't tell me it's in my best interests. At the very least be honest with me… and with yourself. I think I deserve that much, don't you?"

"You deserve that and more, Ana. Honestly, if the whole travesty with that would-be rapist had not occurred, you and I would never have seen each other after that evening, in all likelihood. I would never have seriously contemplated inducting you into my kink…" he grins devilishly now before adding, "although I might have imagined it or possibly dreamt about it."

I suppose he's trying to give me a compliment but I can't really appreciate it at the moment. He's kissing me off essentially. He doesn't want to corrupt me… yet I'm not worth compromising on his criteria for any potential relationship. So that's that. Who was I kidding to think that _the oh-so-important_ Mr. Christian Grey might be romantically interested in me? He was just having a little fun, a diversion. After all, he could date a different Victoria's Secret model every day of the week.

"So that's it then? You're saying good-bye to me right now?"

He gently nods his assent. "It's not at all what I planned but… I think so, Ana."

I cannot tear my eyes away from his handsome face as much as I want to. Why is he being so coldhearted? Now I see some emotion in his eyes—they look a little sad—but his stoic expression remains plastered on his face. He really doesn't care about me. What was I thinking? He starts to speak again but I don't want to listen.

"Perhaps we might remain as friends? I do enjoy your company."

"Do you now?" I echo his words but can't manage anything more. My throat starts constricting—my cue to know I'm seconds away from crying and I don't want to give him that last satisfaction. He may be out of my league but so what? He shouldn't be allowed to treat me so shabbily. I rub my eyes with my fists, suddenly very anxious to get away from him and nurse my wounded pride.

I have to leave.

Without saying another word, I bolt from his bed and take stock of myself. If I can keep my brain distracted, I can hold off any breakdown until I can get away from him. I'm fully dressed except for my shoes so I cast my eyes about, finally spotting them near his closet. I stalk over and slip my feet into them. Without turning around, I hurriedly make my way downstairs to get my jacket and purse.

"Ana? Where are you going? Ana?"

I ignore him to the best of my ability but he follows me, grabbing my arm. I jerk it out of his grasp, still saying nothing and keeping my watering eyes down. My jacket and purse are together on the chair next to the Louis XIV entry table in the grand foyer.

"Let go," I snap, and wrench away as his hand again clamps down on my arm. "I'm leaving." I can hear the traitorous quiver in my voice and I know he can, too. Damn, I hate being an emotional loose cannon.

"Ana, wait. I don't want to part on these terms. Please. Stay and let's discuss this further."

"There's nothing to discuss," I growl out. "Good-bye, Christian. Have a nice life."

Thank God the elevator is there as soon as I call for it. I don't turn around until the doors close behind me because I don't want to see him…nor do I want him to see the tears streaming down my face. I've learned a very hard lesson today, probably one most women are forced to learn. Not everyone is nice, certainly not every man. In fact, the opposite is probably true. I've never been taken advantage of to this extent but at least it took a handsome, young billionaire to list me as a conquest. I try to consider it cynically… at least until I get home and can allow myself to cry. I rush out of the elevator as soon as the door swish open and nodding curtly to the doorman, spill out into the street. Outside, I am lucky for once. An empty cab sails by and I whistle for it. It's a talent my father taught me when I was nine—he was so proud when I mastered the art. Thinking of my dad permits a tiny moment of joy to perforate my misery and just for a moment I feel a smile almost make it to my lips. I plop into the cab's backseat and give him my address. As we speed away, I turn around to take one last look at the building in the sky.

"Good-bye, Christian," I whisper softly so the driver can't hear.

Thankfully, Kate's not home when I let myself in the apartment. I sort of lost it in the cab and feel a little ridiculous right now. The cab driver, a very nice man from Pakistan, told me that no one was worth all those tears and gave me a tissue. His kindness only made me bawl harder. When I paid him, I gave him an extra-large tip and thanked him.

It's late, nearing midnight. I must have fallen asleep at around eight o'clock and slept for two hours at least. That means I'm going to have trouble falling asleep tonight, when I need to more than any other night. I have to decide: brandy or Bendryl?

The weeping has made my head ache, my nose run, and my eyes swell. Running a hot bath, I go into the kitchen and pour myself a snifter of Kate's father's favorite brandy. He gifts a bottle or two to her every Christmas. Along with the brandy, I make myself a cup of warm milk so I don't upset my stomach with the alcohol. I bring both into the bedroom and then get into the scalding hot bath.

"Ana!"

There's a bright light flashing through my eyelids, making me want to shrink away from it. I force my eyes open.

"Kate? What's up?"

"What's up is not you. You fell asleep in the bathtub. Are you okay?"

Shielding my eyes from the bright overhead, I nod. "I'm fine but could you shut off that light? I prefer just the candlelight."

"Is everything okay?" Her eyes narrow. "You've been crying. What happened?"

Sighing, I lean back against the tub. "Kate, give me a minute to get out of the bath and then we'll talk. Okay?"

"Fine." She exits the room, turning off the light as she goes.

Ugh, now I have to withstand the inquisition by Kate. I could kick myself—I almost made it to bed. If only I hadn't fallen asleep in the bath… Maybe I could sneak into my room and pretend I'm out? The air feels frigid when I leave the now tepid bathwater so I wrap the fluffy bathsheet around me and scurry from the bathroom to my bedroom to jump under the covers to warm up.

Kate is having none of it and follows me in. "Oh no you don't," she says, wagging her finger. "I want to know why your eyes are swollen. I've seen that same look in the mirror many a time and it always has to do with a man. What happened with the illustrious Mr. Grey?

I sigh, exasperated. "Why didn't you tell me before we became friends that I'd never be permitted to have a secret thought again?"

She curls her leg under her and perches on the corner of the bed. "Spill your guts, Ana. What happened?"

I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and shrug. "It just didn't work out. We were incompatible."

"Bullshit. You two seemed very compatible to me. Tell me the truth."

"That's the truth, Kate," I insist. I cannot tell her the whole truth because a legal contract I signed prohibits it. Two legal contracts, actually.

"How did it happen?" Her eyes are wide and she looks truly perplexed.

Counting on my tried and true method of diverting the bloodhound off the track with carefully dangled fresh meat, I neatly switch the topic to her. "How's Elliot, by the way?"

Her eyes nearly roll into her head. "Oh, Ana, Elliot is as right as rain. I don't think I've ever met anyone like him. Not only is he gorgeous, he also actually listens to what I say… and seems interested! Plus, he's great in bed and he has a huge dick. I mean, what more can I ask of the universe?"

Her eyes are twinkling when she says it. Uh-oh, Kate in love is almost as insufferable as a brokenhearted Kate. She's wearing her favorite tight jeans, a cropped pink long-sleeved t-shirt, and her silvery blond ringlets spilling down from a bun on top of her head. She is—in a word—gorgeous.

"Well, I'm glad there's one Grey worth our time," I grumble. "Listen, Kate, I've had a very long day—and a hard one—so I'm going to go to sleep early. I'll tell you more about it tomorrow, okay?"

Just as I say that, my phone alerts me to a text mail. As soon as we hear that, a ping sounds from my laptop. Kate glances at me and says drily, "It seems you've got mail. I'll leave it to you to guess who it's from." She squeezes my hand. "If you need anything, even just company, give a shout."

"Thanks, Kate, I will." As soon as the door closes, I reach for my phone to check the message. Christian. I open it, knowing I probably shouldn't.

ANA, I SENT YOU AN EMAIL. PLEASE READ IT NOW. CHRISTIAN

I pad over to my laptop on the desk and bring it to my bed, the bathsheet still wrapped around me. Before I sit back down to read the email, I finish drying off and put on a pair of flannel yoga pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Oh, and fluffy socks. There's nothing like warm socks to make a girl feel better. Once done, I ensconce myself amid my many pillows, and, brandy in hand, begin to read the email.

_Ana, I don't want you to think unkindly of me. Please understand that I do this not because it's what I want—for it's not, trust me. I do it because I don't want to hurt you or contaminate your purity with the filth of my brokenness. I truly hate how we left it today. Please show me your generosity of spirit by having breakfast or lunch with me tomorrow so we might clear the air. I'll await your reply. _

No way, Jose. Not gonna happen, Mr. Grey. I smile at the unintentional rhyme. I'm too hurt to clear the air and he just wants to make himself feel better for the shitty way he treated me. I was willing to try to do what he wanted in order to have some semblance of a relationship with him. If he didn't want to corrupt me, as he claims, he could have tried a relationship without the whips and restraints. Couldn't he?

I take a healthy swig of the brandy. It burns going down but almost immediately I feel better. I've never had a broken heart… not really. In sixth grade, Tony Phelan sort of broke my heart when he broke up with me to go out with a girl in a rival clique. That hurt. Then in high school there was Jake… but _I_ broke up with _him_.

Then there was Hans. My husband. The last I heard from Mr. McEvoy, he said as far as he could tell, the marriage was legally valid and it is still in force. He's been unable to ascertain for sure whether or not Hans is among the living but he was still working on it.

As for the so-called debt, he told me not to worry at all. It's so entirely bogus that I probably won't hear from them again now that they've been made aware that we're onto them. They won't want to tempt fate by repeated contact, which of course could help facilitate their arrest on multiple federal offenses.

I never do answer Christian's email or text. I always feel a clean break is the only kind of break that doesn't become infected. It would never work out between us, even if I joined him in that red and black room of his. We don't want the same things at all. As a week becomes two and then three, I actually begin to feel grateful toward Christian for cutting it off so quickly, before I could become really attached to him. Knowing him merely for a few weeks, I'd become so enamored of him that our parting was so hard. Imagine if we'd spent any significant time together?

I didn't get the job either, which totally sucked. The good news is that I have another two lined up for the coming week and one is for a junior editor, something I'd really like to do. The other is working in a digital-effects house but it's mostly administrative. Still, the pay is pretty impressive for an entry-level position.

On Monday, I go for both interviews. On Tuesday, I'm offered the junior editor job. On Wednesday, I'm offered the admin job, and on Thursday, Kent Gable calls me.

"Ana?"

I'd been cooking, making potato croquettes and my hands are full of egg and potato batter when my phone chimes. When I see it's Kent, I hurriedly grab a dish towel and wipe my hands clean then snatch up the phone before it goes to voice mail.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Ana. It's Kent Gable. How are you?"

"Kent, hi. I'm fine, thank you. How are you doing?"

"I'm well, Ana, thank you. I spoke to Irina about hiring you again and she informed me you're no longer working for her. Is that correct?"

"It is, Kent. Well, it was. I quit at the request of someone I was seeing but since we are no longer involved, I suppose I can go back to Irina's. What did you have in mind?"

"I have a few events on the horizon. First, I've a fashion show coming up…. in Milan. Are you game?"

"Am I game?" I practically scream it. "Yes, I'm definitely game! When do we leave?"

He's laughing at my enthusiasm, I suppose. "The show starts in two weeks but I need to be there in ten days. I'd like you to accompany me for the entire trip so I can use you for fittings. You have the same measurements as many of my models despite the fact that they're all about four inches taller than you. Still, the only allowance I need to make is the hemline. Can you swing it?"

"I just was offered two different positions, believe it or not. But let me see if either or both would let me start at a later date. When would we be finished?"

"I'll need six days there once the show begins. All told, I'd say a month at the minimum. I'll make it worth your while financially, even if you have to turn down the jobs."

"Okay. You said a few. What are the others?"

"A family wedding in Monterrey and a benefit for at-risk children in Seattle. The benefit is this weekend. The wedding is right after we come back from Italy."

"Wow, you're keeping me busy. Okay, I'll have to call Irina and get her approval but I'm all in, Kent. Thanks for thinking of me."

"You're welcome, Ana. I'm so glad you can do it. Once you confirm with Irina, shoot me a text so I can get started on your outfit for Friday night."

"I'll call her right now. Thanks, Kent! I'm so excited."

I hear him chuckle as he disconnects. How lucky I was to have met Kent. He's such a nice man—so generous and fun… and he seems to genuinely like me. That attribute is one I always find endearing. Glancing at my watch I see it's nearly six. Irina may be at dinner but I tend to doubt she dines this early. I punch in Irina's number and it goes to voice mail so I leave a message for her, giving her a brief overview and asking her to call. I go back to my potato croquettes.

By nine, Irina hasn't called back so I try her again. This time she answers on the second ring.

"Ana, I'm sorry I didn't get back to you yet. I was trying to figure out how to handle the situation, actually."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that I'm in sort of a bind, dear. I made a promise to Mr. Chinaski that I wouldn't assign you to any more dates. I prefer not to incur his wrath; however, I'd like you to have this opportunity and frankly you and I will both earn quite a nice payday from it. Kent wants you for three separate events, and the Milan one alone will be like hitting the lottery for both of us. I'm wondering if I can tell him your contract gives you the upper hand."

"Irina, Mr. _Chinaski_ has no right whatsoever to call any shots in my life. He did me a good turn and that's it. There were no conditions attached to it and I resent having to toe the line when it comes to his requirements."

There's such a protracted pause that I fear the call dropped but then I hear what sounds like an expelled breath. "All right, Ana. I will defer to you on this matter. After all, it is your life. I suspect our friend won't be pleased about this turn of events."

"Irina, in all likelihood, our friend won't even know about it. Thank you. I'll let Kent know."

"Very good. Don't forget the follow-up."

"Irina, what do you do with those follow-up reports?"

"File them away. It's part of my recordkeeping for tax purposes, as well as compiling information on clients. No incriminating evidence is maintained, if that's your concern."

"No, no. I was just curious. Okay, well, have a good evening."

The minute I disconnect, I send Kent a text message. _We're on! I'm looking forward to seeing you again and of course wearing one of your magnificent creations. Thanks, Kent!_

As time has passed, I'm feeling less animosity toward Christian. My feelings were very hurt over his rejection and I felt taken advantage of since I'd given him my virginity. In all fairness to him, though, he never promised me anything and gave me ample opportunity to back out of our weekend of passion. Besides, it was wonderful and at least I won't join the ranks of girls who had a horrible first time—mine was sublime.

Meantime, I'm over the moon that Kent called me. Not only am I excited to see him again, but go with him to Milan? My God, it just gets better and better.

On Thursday morning my dress arrives. Kent certainly cut it close, no pun intended. Kate and I gingerly remove it from the garment bag.

"Oh, wow, Ana, this is going to look gorgeous on you!"

It's a nude color, sort of champagne, I'd say but with a titch more orange and it's two-piece. The top looks like a standard camisole but with a flared and dropped waistline. The bottom is a flouncy skirt in matching material. The hemline hits at mid calf and is assymetrical. I love it and can't wait to try it on.

"Ana, there's a note from Kent." She hands me an ivory envelope. "What does it say?"

I scan the note. "He told me not to wear the diamond necklace with the dress, you know, the one he gave me."

"What does he want you to wear?"

"He said he's looking for the right piece to go with it. Are there shoes?"

"Yes! Here's a box." She tears it open like it's Christmas. "Oh my God, Ana. Gorgeous! How will you ever walk in these though?"

The shoes have killer heels. They're Jimmy Choo crystal suede leaf sandals in nude and the heels are five or six inches. "I can't wait to get dressed!" I clap my hands and it suddenly hits me that I'm happy for the first time since I fell asleep in the cab with Christian. My man Kent rescued me from the blues.

"Can I do your hair, Ana? I know just how I'll do it to go with this outfit."

"How?" I peer at her suspiciously.

"Blow it perfectly straight and then pin it up with an asymmetrical fan of hair sticking out the back." In response to my skeptical look, she says, "Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

"That sounds like someone's famous last words. Okay, I'll trust you."

"Good. Tomorrow can't come fast enough. Oh, wait, yes it can. I'm going out with my hunky hottie tonight."

I can actually feel my face fall and Kate of course notices. "Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie, that was thoughtless of me. Don't worry: you'll find another one soon."

"Not like him," I say softly but I know I have to stop pining over him. What's done is done and now, thanks to Kent, I'm going to have fun.'

"Well, you're not the only one going out with a hottie tonight. Nuh-uh. I'm going to see a film with Mr. Rodriguez. So there. And afterward, we'll probably go have warm beer at the bar down the block. Jealous much?"

Grinning, Kate said, "Very. Come on, Ana, let's go out for lunch. My treat."

….

Kent is prompt, picking me up exactly the time he said he would. In his tuxedo, he looks simply smashing. When I come out of the bedroom to greet him, his mouth hangs open. "My God, that dress fits you exactly how it did in my mind's eye. Ana, you're my muse come to life. Perfect."

He walks over to me, still gaping and reaches into his breast pocket. "Jewelry," he says and extends his hand. He's holding a very delicate gold chain, so fine that I know it won't be visible on my skin. From it is a small diamond pendant in a teardrop shape. Kent places it around my neck and attaches the clasp for me.

"Let me see, turn around."

I spin around for him. "Well?"

"Perfect, just perfect. I brought a vintage watch for you to wear but it doesn't work—it's just for show. It's rose gold and I thought it would look smashing with the dress."

I look carefully at the 1930s watch. The crystal is domed and the face is surrounded by rubies and diamonds. It's exceptionally pretty.

"Thanks, Kent." I kiss his face. "Once again, you've made me feel like a princess."

"Well, I can't get a better recommendation than that. Let's go, Ana." He holds out his arm and I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow.

"So what event are we attending tonight?"

"It's a benefit for a cluster of advocacy groups focused on helping at-risk children. They're trying to raise funds to build a new recreational center. I've always felt the only way to really effect deep change is by helping the youngsters succeed so I support these types of efforts. Shall we?"

"By all means."

The benefit is wonderfully entertaining. The meal is buffet-style and the foods represent just about every culture on the planet. The dance floor is expansive and very elegant, with dark woods gracing the floor, huge crystal chandeliers, and the most beautiful candle sconces mounted on the wall every few feet. Mirrors are used to great effect, bouncing the candlelight everywhere. The building is a converted armory so the proportions are grand in scale.

Kent is a great dancer and he whisks me around the room gracefully. I inquire after Jared and Kent tells me he's away on business.

"Oh, what does he do?"

"He owns several art galleries but he's also got his hand in other businesses, primarily commercial real estate. He's always up to something."

"That sounds interesting… and busy. Where did you two meet?"

Kent tosses his head back and laughs. "This is going to sound so pretentious but we actually met on a yacht. A friend of mine invited me to cruise the Mediterranean on his new catamaran. Jared was staying at a friend's villa on the banks of the Grand Canal. When there was a rather large party on the yacht one night, he and his friend Dina came aboard and that's how we met."

"Sounds very romantic," I say and watch as Kent blushes furiously. It reminds me of someone I know and love, I think and suppress my chuckle. Kent's so sweet in his shyness when talking about his love. I truly am growing to adore this guy, for so many different reasons.

The evening lasts till nearly midnight. For the first two hours or so, I worried I'd see Mr. Grey. After all, he's an active supporter in many philanthropic efforts, especially local ones, so it wasn't impossible. But after enough time passes, I breathe easier, knowing I won't run into him tonight. The relief morphs into a stinging disappointment, as well. I miss him and the part of me who's a glutton for punishment would love to see his shining silvery eyes again. Then again, he'd probably be with some gorgeous woman and I'd be twisted up by jealousy. After all, he can't take his sister to every benefit.

That's when I start thinking about that time I saw him with the Victoria's Secret model. Was she a submissive? I never asked. I wish I had gotten to speak to one of his former subs before we parted ways. I'd be so interested in knowing more about the man—the side he didn't want me to see.

In the car on the way home, Kent pats my hand. "Do you have all your travel documents in order?"

"Yes, I believe so. I have my passport and any other identification that might be required. Will you tell me what to pack?"

"Yes, I'll have my assistant send you a list of what you should bring and another list of items we can purchase over there. Our flight leaves on Thursday evening at seven. We need to get to the airport by no later than five so I'll pick you up about four."

"Perfect. I'm so excited, Kent. I'll be ready when you get here."

"Great. I had a very nice time tonight, Ana. Thank you." He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it.

"Thank you, Kent. I enjoyed myself too."

"Come on," he says as the limo pulls up in front of my building, "I'll walk you to your front door."

When I get inside, Kate's not home. As soon as Kent takes his leave, I undress, carefully removing my Cinderella clothes and replace them with my comfy Haagen-Dazs clothes, as they're known in this condo. Kate and I laugh about how all women have clothes to wear out and clothes to wear in. The wearing-in clothes always are roomy enough for binge eating or drinking sessions if things get rough enough—or fun enough.

After making myself a steaming mug of green tea, I go into my bedroom to read in bed for a little while before retiring. As soon as I get tucked into my bed, my laptop pings and my phone chimes. Since my phone is closer, I reach for it and brush the screen to retrieve my messages. There are three: one from my mother, one from Carson McEvoy, and the most recent one from Christian.

Christian?

…...

**A/N**: I needed to apologize for the slight manipulation here. I don't normally do this kind of surprise; however, I wanted to bring y'all a sexy scene for Valentine's Day and we weren't there yet in the story.

In FSoG, Christian had few qualms about bringing Ana into his lifestyle and Ana was the one with the worries and reservations. I've reversed the dynamic in my story: Ana, though anxious, is the one gung-ho about trying it, for she fancies herself in love with Christian—after all, what's not to love? Christian is the one with serious reservations about bringing Ana into his playroom due to her innocence.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

I haven't heard from him since that last message of his—the breakfast invite—that I ignored a month ago. What does he want now?

I'VE SENT YOU AN EMAIL. PLEASE READ IT ASAP.

I guess Christian doesn't like typing on his phone. Growling, I drag myself out of my toasty bed to get my laptop. As soon as my inbox pops up, I open his mail.

_My dear Ana, I was laboring under the impression that you and I struck a deal some six weeks ago. I assisted you with your legal problems with the proviso that you in turn would immediately terminate your employment with Irina Bordeaux. It has come to my attention that you remain in her employ and even completed an assignment for her this very evening. I trust that this information is false and that you are still abiding by our agreement._

Christian

Do I even answer him? After all, he never placed conditions on his help. He told me I wouldn't have to work for Irina but did he forbid it? I can't remember him saying so.

Anyway, what does he care? He ditched me. What I do is no concern of his and besides, Kent is the only one I'll accept assignments from, so no danger.

How did he find out? I'm ninety-nine percent certain he wasn't in attendance tonight. Maybe one of his friends saw me? But how would they know me from Adam? I mean, Christian never introduced me to anyone but his family and Carson McEvoy. None of those people were there tonight—at least I don't think they were.

I suppose it wouldn't be hard for someone like McEvoy to be present without my noticing him. I smile when the next thought flits through my brain: if Christian is upset I went to a benefit with Kent, just imagine his surprise when I'm away in Europe for a month with the man! Ha. Wish I could be a fly on the wall if and when he finds out about that.

But why does he care anyway? He rejected me and his altruistic reasons don't matter. Rejection is rejection. If he truly wanted me around, he would have found a way. I fall asleep with all these thoughts swirling round in my head so of course I have bad dreams. In the only one I remember upon waking, I'm being chased and yelled at and all I could see as I'm running down a dark tunnel are furious silver eyes trailing behind me. I wake up in a cold sweat at three in the morning. It might be time to hit the brandy again.

The next morning I learn exactly how Christian found out as Kate thrusts the Seattle Times under my nose. flipped to a column mentioning last night's fundraising benefit.

"What? Do you mean to tell me that out of all the photos that were taken last night, the only one published in the Times is the one of Kent and I?" I practically scream the question at Kate.

"Darling Ana," Kate replies in an exaggeratedly patient voice, "this is a fashion column and Mr. Gable is big news. The fact that you're wearing one of his original creations is why your photograph is here." She stabs the photo with her index finger to punctuate her explanation.

I drop my head into my hands. "That's how Christian found out then."

"Why? Did he contact you?"

"Yessss," I snap, elongating the word. I'm pissed off right about now. "He did his double hit of simultaneous text and email to ensure I'd hear about his displeasure."

"Oh, is he displeased? Well, isn't that just too bad. He doesn't get to have his cake and eat it too."

"He doesn't eat cake," I grumble. "Have you ever noticed his abs?"

"I'm not kidding, Ana. Who the hell does he think he is, dictating to you on what you can or cannot do? Your evenings with Kent are just what the doctor ordered. Mr. Grey can go twist in the wind."

"Whatever. You're right and it's none of his business. But do me a favor and don't mention to Elliot that I'm going to Milan with Kent? Please?"

"Fine, but can I at least tell him you're abroad? He might want to know why I'm living alone all of a sudden."

"That's fine. I've got a doctor's appointment today and I also have to deal with those job offers."

"What are you going to do?" Kate asks as she places a mug of hot coffee in front of me.

"Mmm, this smells so good." I take a sip. "I'm going to tell them I'll be away for the next three to four weeks and if either of them say they'll wait, I'll pick that one."

"What if they both will wait?"

I frown at the possibility. "Then I have to decide sooner rather than later."

"What if they both say they won't wait?"

I shrug, almost hoping for that outcome at this point. "Then I won't work for either, I suppose. I'm not giving up this chance to go to Europe, Kate. I've only been there that one summer in high school. Plus, it's a big payday for me—and Irina."

"Well, don't you go worrying about that dragon lady. Just focus on Ana Steele."

"Yeah, okay. But remember, Kate: no mention of Kent and Milan in the same sentence. _Comprende?_

Rolling her eyes, Kate says yes, as if she's the most long-suffering roommate of all time. "I'm going to shower. Give a shout out if you hear my phone ring. The steam from the shower makes my cell act wonky so I can't take it in with me."

"And God forbid you're incommunicado for twenty minutes."

"God forbid," she mimics and then grins, displaying her toothpaste ad smile. "I can be incommunicado for everyone except one VIP. He gets through instantly. _Comprende_?" She looks over her shoulder and adds, "Oh, and the P doesn't stand for person, if you get my drift." Winking, she retreats into the bathroom.

When I finally think about the remark, I gasp. What a dirty little girl that Kate is. I'm like a nun in comparison. Maybe I should start calling myself Sister Ana when in Kate's presence. The thought makes me giggle, picturing myself in a nun's habit and wimple, and Kate in a short dress with a big scarlet A on her chest.

Three hours later I'm lying in bed, alone in the apartment. At least one of us has a successful love life. Elliot swung by to pick up Kate and I went out to say hello. He was smiley and friendly but I felt as if there were an elephant in the room with us, all three of us studiously avoiding any mention of Christian. Finally I wished them a good night and retreated to my bedroom. As soon as I heard the door close, a worry occurred to me. I grabbed for my phone and punched in Kate's number. She answered on the first ring.

"If the condo's on fire, call the fire department. I'm too hungry to come back home. Anyway, firefighters are always hotties."

"Kate, I know I said you could tell Elliot I'm going to Europe but not with whom but do me a favor and don't mention anything until after I'm there. I don't want his overbearing brother to put any crimps in the works. Okay?"

"Promise. Scout's honor."

"Thanks, bella. Have fun tonight."

"Okay. Hey, why don't you call Jose and see if he wants to hang? It'll do you good to get out of the apartment.

"I'm tired," I lie, "and I just want to make up for some of my current sleep deficit. Good-night, Kate."

Since I'm wide awake, I use the time to pack up my toiletries and some of the clothes I know I'll need, like my jeans and underthings. I bring two pairs of yoga pants to sleep in, as well as a few t-shirts. At nine my email pings and it's from Kent, with an attachment of a detailed list of what to bring and what to avoid. By the time I hit my bed at midnight, I'm ready to leave for Milan.

…..

The plane is about to take off; it's second in the queue on the runway. I look over at Kent who is looking out the window. He glances over to me and smiles and I return a megawatt smile. I'm so excited to be going to Milan with him.

First-class is way nicer than coach, it doesn't feel at all like the same experience. I vow to myself that if it's ever possible, I'll only travel first-class. The attendant brings us cocktails before we even take off. The mimosa is so refreshing that I drink it quickly and now I feel a pleasant buzz in my head. Kent is reading a magazine so I decide to take a nap. I wake up as the plane hurtles at an ungodly speed down the runway.

…...

We've been in Milan less than two days when the call comes in from Kate.

"Um, Ana, promise me you won't kill me."

"Why?" I can hear the barely veiled anger and suspicion in my own voice as I ask the question.

"I was having dinner at the Greys' home last night. Christian was there—it was a small celebration because Zander came home for a couple of weeks. He's really cute, by the way. You know: the silent, sulky teen, brooding and cranky? Anyway, Grace asked for you. Actually she asked Christian where you were."

"What did he say?"

"That's just it. He didn't say anything, just looked massively uncomfortable—I guess because I was right there. Anyway, he looked at me and then everyone else did too. I tried to deflect their attention by just mentioning you were away, in Europe. Of course then they wanted to know why and for how long."

"Oh, Kate, what did you tell them?"

"All I said was that you were traveling on business and you'd be away for a week or two. That's it. But when I chanced to look at the handsome bastard—"

"Which one?"

"Elliot's handsome but he's not a bastard. If anything he's a scoundrel but not even that I'm thinking. _Christian's_ a bastard."

"Okay, so…?"

"When I looked at him, his eyes were burning holes in my forehead they were so intense. After dinner, he approached me and asked for details. I told him I didn't know anything more, sorry. I will admit to being a bit snotty—I couldn't help it. Like, what business is it of his where you are and what you're doing? I don't understand anything of what went down, Ana. He's acting like a jealous boyfriend.

"Anyway, I've a feeling he's not going to leave it at that, Ana. You might be hearing from either him or Irina. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Kate. I was afraid Irina would pull the rug out from under me… but now that we're here, it's sort of a moot point. Anyway…"

"How is Milan?"

"Oh, as beautiful as when you last saw it, I'm sure. Kent had to hit the ground running. He's been busy since the moment we touched down and I've had to be with him most of the time to help out. Today I have a few hours on my own to do some shopping. I was just having an espresso when you called."

"Oh, I wish I were there with you… we could have so much fun."

"You could join me?"

"I could… but then I'd have to suffer withdrawal from Elliot. I don't think I can do that, Ana."

"Oh, boy, you've got it bad. Okay. I'm going to go now so I can spend some of these Euros I'm making. We'll talk soon."

After I disconnect, I wonder if I should be pissed off or not. The way I currently feel is a bit embarrassed that the Greys now know that Christian dumped me, but otherwise I don't much care if Christian has his nose out of joint. I mean, seriously, screw him. I put it out of my mind and focus on what I want to purchase from this phenomenal shoe store I found tucked into a small dead-end block I ferreted out of the maze that is Milan.

Kent calls me later to tell me I don't need to come to his Milan studio at all today so I'm free to do as I wish. I go for a walk to sightsee, have another coffee, and then head back to the hotel to take a hot shower and wait for Kent to have dinner.

Kent's been working ridiculous hours since we got here. The show opens day after tomorrow and he's a nervous wreck over all the details. One of his favorite models broke her leg so he had to find a replacement at the last minute. The new model had slightly different dimensions so clothes had to be altered quickly, and the lighting guy was having problems with Kent's specifications. By Thursday he had pulled it all together and I was sitting in the front row, as proud as any parent, waiting for the show to begin. Later tonight, there'd be a soiree to celebrate the opening of fashion week in Milan.

The clothes are gorgeous! I just wish Kate were here to enjoy it with me. Kent is an amazing designer. He dressed me today and has promised me a fantastic outfit for tonight's party. I see so many celebrities in the audience that I feel like Alice, having fallen into an alternate universe. Kent may be the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Afterward, he introduces me to so many people my head spins. I speak very little Italian, even though I studied it in school for several years. I managed to have some limited conversations, and though it was implicit that I was acting as Kent's date, I met a couple of gorgeous Italian men who were very clearly demonstrating their interest in me. All told, I'd say it was a very successful day.

Kent chooses a pewter satin cocktail dress for me to wear to the party. It's strapless and extremely fitted to the point where I'm not sure I can eat a morsel or even the DNA of a morsel while wearing it. Matching high-heeled pumps, and a clutch purse complete the outfit. He gives me a chunky faux-diamond bracelet and a sterling cuff to wear. Nothing on the neck, he said, since he wanted my hair down. He even asked me if he could do my makeup, to which of course, I said yes.

When I look in the mirror, I'm astounded. Is that really Ana Steele?

My eyes are heavily rimmed in black kohl with a splash of silvery sparkles on the brows. Long lashes courtesy of mascara flutter over my eyes and my lips are outlined in deep red and the center is brushed with cherry gloss. He's darkened my brows a bit, too, which lends my face a harsher look—harsher but more noticeable for certain. I think I look good.

"Well?" I ask Kent when I'm all ready.

"Ana, you are sublime, a vision in gunmetal satin. What more can I say other than I'm certain to have the most beautiful woman in the whole place on my lucky arm. Don't forget to take the wrap or you'll get cold."

"Oh, right." I run back to my room to grab the silver metallic shawl he gave me. Kent rented a suite with two bedrooms that we're sharing. It's perfect, allowing us both privacy but neither of us is alone. He thinks of everything and if not for Jared, I'd definitely want to marry him. Who needs sex when you have everything else?

As soon as I think of sex, you-know-who pops into my mind. Today marks a month I have officially survived without him. The wrap I just hastily threw over my shoulders reminds me of those eerie eyes of his, eyes I miss gazing into, trying to figure out the puzzle that is Christian Grey.

"Ana, come on. We're already fashionably late."

"Punny. Okay, I'm ready."

The hotel doorman hails us a cab and the drive to the venue takes less than ten minutes. Though there's no red carpet, there are some photographers loitering about outside the wrought iron gates of the establishment hosting the party. Once inside, Kent grabs us two flutes of Prosecco and then promptly gets spirited off by some older woman with gnarly hands and a loud, gravelly voice.

"I'll be right back, Ana, sweet. Enjoy."

I look around at a sea of fine clothes and strange faces. Suddenly I feel very lonely and homesick even. I spot a wall of windows on the other side of the huge room and I gravitate toward them, hoping for a moment to collect my thoughts. When I reach the windows, I see there are two pairs of French doors leading to a huge terrace. Perfect. I go outside, my bubbly wine in hand.

It's relatively quiet out here, the music from inside muted by the glass. Though the air is chilly, I feel okay with my wrap on and the wine warming me on the inside. I have to figure out what I'm going to do when I return home. Both of my job offers are intact and I was too cowardly to turn either down. I know fully well it was stupid of me to string them both along but I did it anyway. God, it's a beautiful night and the twinkling—

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The voice is right behind me and there's no concern for politeness or circumspection. I whip around and find myself staring into two angry silver orbs. What?

"I think I'm drinking Prosecco and waiting for Kent. What do you think you're doing?"

"I think I'm about to spank a woman in full view of a ballroom of people dressed up in evening clothes."

"I dare you," I charge, my voice shaking with… what? Fear? Excitement? Probably both. I can't believe Christian Grey is standing in front of me.

"Ana, if you learn anything at all about me, then you should learn never to dare me. I cannot resist picking up a gauntlet once it's thrown down. Be careful for there's a bench right over there," he gestures with his chin, "and it's the perfect height for putting you over my knee. Do you understand?"

"What pray tell is your big problem? And what are you doing in Milan?"

"My big problem is that we had a deal. I upheld my side of it and you did not. I would like to know why you chose to break it?"

"I didn't know your help and assistance were conditional, Mr. Grey. I agreed I wouldn't work for Irina anymore but, from the first, I expressed interest in continuing with Kent. Since we—you and I—are no longer involved in any capacity, I saw no harm in dating Kent. I count him among my friends at this point. What's more, I fail to see why this concerns you in the least. Do you really think Kent might hurt me?"

The look on his face can only be described as frustrated fury. While he's struggling with his volatile emotions, I take the opportunity to look him over and, boy, is it worth the effort.

He's wearing a navy suit that's cut to perfection, showing off his broad shoulders, trim waist, and long legs. He's paired it with a silvery shirt that matches my dress quite well, being a lighter shade of pewter, with a very light silky pearl tie. His hair is brushed back off his face—I've never seen him wear it like that before, but it gives him a very continental flair. He looks utterly, heartstoppingly gorgeous.

"Ana, do you recall me telling you I don't share?" His voice is controlled but just barely so. I can sense unbridled emotion percolating under the surface.

"Share? Share what?"

"Don't be obtuse. You know what I'm talking about."

"No, I don't. If you mean share me, then you're not sharing. I'm all Kent's at this point. What are you talking about, Christian?"

"You're all Kent's? Really?"

"Yes, for the moment. I'm not involved in any romantic dalliance at all with anyone… though I've met a few Italian contenders lately." I smile but he's not on board with my playful banter. At all.

"Ana, I—" he stops abruptly and his hand slips around my waist, yanking me to him and he kisses me, thrusting his tongue in my mouth when I open it to complain. Somehow I forget to complain once I taste him and remember how it feels to be in his capable arms. I've missed him.

"I've missed you, Ana," he echoes my thoughts when we finally break. "Why didn't you return my messages?"

"Why bother? You made yourself perfectly clear the last time we met," I say and feel the tears already crouching in my throat, ready to push up and out at a moment's notice.

"When are you returning to the States?"

"Early next week."

"Can you come to my hotel room tonight?"

I shake my head. "No, I can't. I'm with Kent on this trip and I cannot leave him flat."

"If I ask him, will you?"

"No, Christian. It's not appropriate or fair."

As if I've summoned him, Kent appears just behind Christian's shoulder. "Well, well, what a coincidence, Mr. Grey. How nice to see you again."

Christian forces a stiff smile and nods his head. "Mr. Gable. Congratulations on a successful launch. I understand your line was well received."

"Yes, thank you. Are you in Milan for fashion week?"

"I'm in town for Ms. Steele, but she claims she's yours for the duration of the trip."

"Oh? You're here in Milan to try to steal my beautiful companion?"

Christian just looks at him as Kent continues to toy with him. I'm surprised at Kent; he's usually more discreet than this.

"Tell you what, Mr. Grey. Since you came so far, if my beautiful companion agrees, I have no problem with her visiting with you after we leave this party. Fair enough?"

Again without a word—very unusual for the smooth Mr. Grey—he nods and then looks pointedly at me. "Appropriately enough, I'm staying at the Gray. I hope to see you there tonight, Ms. Steele, so we might continue our conversation."

With that, he bowed out after saying good-night to Kent.

"I'm sorry, Kent. I had no idea—"

"Don't be sorry you're bringing that roué to heel, Ana. It's about time someone did. He's been breaking hearts for a long time with his disdain—it's about time he had his own roughed up a bit."

I chuckle bitterly. "I hardly think his heart is involved. He's just jealous."

"Ah, but jealousy is born of love and love alone, my dear. Come, let's dance and enjoy our evening. I'll drop you off at his hotel on our way home for your… conversation."

I look at him gratefully but I'm not sure at all if I should take that detour tonight.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

One of the tall, dark, scary men with pagers at the event finds us a taxi when we're ready to leave. I have to say I'm impressed with the uniforms of the security detail: they look like Secret Service—if Secret-Service men were dressed by Italian designers. Northern Italian men are dastardly attractive and gleeful about their sexuality. Too gleeful.

As we get into the taxi I realize it's do-or-die time. I have to decide whether or not to go to Christian's hotel room. On the one hand, he came all the way to Milan for me, which can only mean that he has some kind of feelings for me. The least I can do is hear him out, something I've refused to do since he savaged my tender heart.

On the other hand, he really needs someone to teach him a lesson in humility. Has no one ever said _no_ to the man? I suspect not. I don't agree with Kent that jealousy is born of love.. Maybe that's been his personal experience but it isn't everyone's. I guess sometimes it may be, but I tend to believe it's a remnant of a primitive territorial thing, the equivalent of peeing on every street corner so other dogs don't start looking to move in.

Mr. Grey apparently cannot decide whether or not he wants me, but he does know he doesn't want anyone else to have me, even if that anyone else happens to be a gay man whom I truly like and possibly adore and who treats me like a princess. Kent represents absolutely no threat to him, yet he's somehow still jealous. It's curious.

The problem I'm grappling with this minute is that even if I go to his hotel room purely to ask and answer questions, I know how the night will end. How could it not? We'll be in a private setting with a big bed, and a boy and a girl with complementing parts. Plus, every time that particular boy gets near this girl, all bets are off. Her body takes charge and her brain relegated to that of interested but impotent onlooker. Therein lies the rub.

"Well, Ana," Kent asks, as the taxi begins to pull away from the curb. "Where to?"

"Our hotel." It's a spur of the moment decision.

Kent looks more than mildly surprised. "Are you certain?"

"No," I answer honestly, "but I can't let him steamroll over me. I never asked him to come to Milan. He's the one who did the kicking."

"It appears that Mr. Grey has had a change of heart."

"That's just it, Kent. I don't think he has."

"Don't you think it wise to at least find out? That is, unless you're truly not interested."

"You know I am," I retort grumpily.

"Signore?" The driver asks Kent for a destination.

Kent answers in Italian and I hear him use the name Gray—Christian's hotel.

"You think I should go?"

"Yes, but stand firm. You can hear him out. If you don't like what he has to say, you have the hotel doorman find you a taxi. Or call me and I'll come get you. If you like what he has to say, you might call that taxi anyway—he shouldn't have life so easy." He grins and winks.

Catching him off-guard, I throw my arms around his neck. "I don't know what I did to deserve a friend like you, but whatever it was I'm so glad I did it." I kiss him on his cheek and then wipe the remnants of lipstick off.

He looks so pleased with himself—as if he's happy he made me happy.

"Just do me a favor? Whatever you decide, if you're not coming back to the suite, call or text me so I don't worry over you. Deal?"

"Of course, Kent."

But as the taxi pulls up in front of Christian's hotel, I realize I'm making a huge mistake. I'm caving in to his pressure when I shouldn't. After all, I was the one willing to do whatever was necessary to pursue a relationship with him, even as far as joining him in his torture chamber.

And he turned me down and _turned me out_. He wasn't willing to make one tiny concession for me nor was he willing to let me into his kinky room.

Why should I go back for more of the same? I look at Kent and I don't have to say a single word. He sees the resolution on my face and, without comment, gives the driver the address of our hotel. The taxi smoothly pulls away and I lean my head on Kent.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"Don't mention it. I've been in your shoes more than once, pretty woman. It's never fun but at least right now you hold all the power."

Kent's shoulder is wide and comfortable enough for me to get used to having it available. "Why did you say jealousy is born of love?" I ask as I stare into space, twisting a long tendril of hair around my finger. "It isn't, you know."

He sighs in the dark interior as the car wends its way via the back streets to our hotel. When he begins, his voice is soft and contemplative. "Well, there's jealousy and then there's jealousy. The kind that Mr. Grey is showing is the good kind. He's jealous because he wants you, and he wants you because he has feelings for you. The other kind is all about power—it's less jealousy and more territorial rank. You know, the kind of _What's mine is mine and I don't share_… or _I may not want you but I don't want anyone else to have you either_."

I interrupt, "That's exactly what Christian is about in this case…"

He looks down at me, trying to see me in the sliver of ambient light. "I think you're mistaken, Ana. I think the man is conflicted, but he can't disguise the way he looks at you with near reverence. Trust me, he's head over heels. He may be fighting it for all he's worth… but he won't win. One never does in matters of the heart."

I stare out the windshield, chewing over Kent's words and I realize that I'm very tired. I need to get some sleep. I pull out my phone and scroll to Christian's cell number, quickly punching out a message:

_Sorry, I can't make it tonight—too tired. Maybe tomorrow for coffee? Let me know. A_

His reply is close to instantaneous. I almost put the phone away without reading it but curiosity wins the day.

_Please come tonight. I have to leave in the a.m. I only want to talk privately with you. Please, Ana?_

I groan in frustration.

"What's up?"

I hand over the phone and show him see the message.

Kent gives me a tired grin. "What are you going to do?"

Taking a quick peek at my watch, I see it's almost eleven. "I'll go up to our suite and change my clothes. He can come over here to see me… if that's okay by you?" I shoot him an anxious glance.

"That's fine. Anything you want to do is fine by me, Ana. I can put you in a taxi as well…if you decide to go to him."

Cocking my head, I gaze suspiciously at him. "It sure seems as if you're pushing me in that direction. Did he pay you or something? Or maybe he has a blackmail photo to hang over your head?"

Lighthearted laughter fills the cab. "Not at all, my pretty. I just am a believer in romance." He starts to elaborate then stops himself. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Please."

"I think you know what I'm all about… I'm quiet about my personal life but I already consider you a friend. So I'll be frank with you. If there's one thing I know in this life, it's men, even straight men, and I will tell you some truths about Mr. Grey as I sense them."

He looks at me and I'm all ears. "Oops, we're here. To be continued," he quips as he removes his billfold from his breast pocket.

We've just pulled up to our hotel. Kent hands the driver money and we disembark. He reserves his comments until we're in an empty elevator, riding up to our suite.

"Truth _numero uno_: Mr. Grey is very interested in you, like it or not. And I suspect he doesn't like it. In fact, it may be the first time he's on this end of a relationship, Ana."

"What end?"

"The one where his feelings are invested. All of his experience before was probably predicated on the woman pursuing him and his accepting the advances but not putting any skin into the game. Truth _numero due:_ He's fighting it for all he's worth. Our man doesn't feel comfortable sitting where he's currently perched. He likes to be in control, making all the decisions, and not getting hurt when things go south. The power dynamic has swung to your side. Ergo, you're calling the shots at the moment. And—"

"Okay, but why does he object to my being with you? I mean, he knows you're… unavailable."

"Nicely put," Kent says, smiling. "I'm guessing that he doesn't want our pairing to become public knowledge as it will if we continue in this vein. Truth to tell, it already has," he finishes, his eyes sparkling with delighted mischief.

"Public knowledge?"

"Ana, up until a few weeks ago, you were a private person. Then in a short amount of time, you began to be seen in important places—"

"With important people," I finish.

"With public people," he corrects. "I suspect Mr. Grey wants you to be linked with him in the public eye if you must be in that public eye at all. If I'm right, that is what is upsetting him. He wants you hidden while he makes up his mind."

"As far as I could tell, he made up his mind. He was decidedly unequivocal." I still remember how it felt. Rejection on that level is unbearably hurtful. I think it leaves a scar, no matter how well adjusted a person may be. Mine is still fresh and itches all the time, and I know what's fueling my resistance to meeting with Christian is residual anger at his infliction of pain.

I yank on my favorite worn-out blue jeans—they fit snugly and accentuate all my finer points. I've changed my mind once again and am going to Christian's hotel—it's not fair to Kent to bring it all here. He's exhausted and needs his downtime. Slipping into my mid-calf biker boots, I throw on a white Oxford shirt, attempting to do this quickly so I can get to bed sometime tonight. Now that I've decided to go, the anticipation of seeing Mr. Gorgeous is pumping adrenaline into my system like a high-performance fuel injector. Plus, I'm happy to be out of my gown and heels, as much as I love playing dress-up.

Running my hands through my hair, I stride over to the end of the sofa where Kent is sitting with a cup of tea.

"I'm off now, Kent. I will be back tonight but I promise to text you with any change in plans, even though I fully expect there to be none.

"Wait up. I'll put you into a taxi."

"No, stay put. I'll have the hotel scare one up for me. And I'm going to make Christian take me back tonight. If I have to lose sleep over him, I want to return the favor." I wink at him before slinging my backpack over my shoulder and heading out.

On my way down, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored panel near the elevator bank and I nod. I think I look good, I'm comfortable, and I feel a healthy level of mojo to hold my own. I'm ready for battle.

He's waiting for me by the hotel lobby door. As soon as I spot him, my heartbeat accelerates into warp speed. The man is just too damn hot—and to think he was my first. How many girls set the bar so high for the future? Then I realize that's not good for me at all, damn it.

He's dressed all in black: black jeans and a black vee-neck sweater with nothing but muscled chest peeking out from underneath. The thought crosses my mind that he did that on purpose—flashing drool-worthy assets to make himself irresistible to me. You know, the equivalent of a girl wearing tight jeans… sort of like what I happen to be wearing for some strange reason.

Anyway, he's there because I'd texted him to tell of my imminent arrival. He steps outside, striding over to the curb, pays the driver before I can object, and opens my door, lending me a hand to climb out.

His facial expression tells me nothing so I bounce that blank look right back at him. Even though his very presence intimidates the hell out of me, I'm smart enough not to let him see it.

"Thank you, Ana."

I nod. For a person who's almost never at a loss for words—words are my stock in trade, after all—around Christian I feel tongue-tied. His hand reaches for mine—he intertwines our fingers and leads me inside.

Even though the hour is late, the hotel lobby is buzzing with energy, music, and chatter. As we walk through the large open room toward the elevators, I feel curious eyes on us. Why, I wonder? I doubt Christian is recognized here so it's either his good looks or my tight jeans… or maybe both?

"You didn't have to wait outside for me, you know," I finally speak up. "I'm perfectly capable of finding your suite myself."

He looks down at me from the corner of his eyes as we wait for the elevator. "I didn't want to leave anything to chance. I thought you might pull up and then change your mind so I figured I'd hedge my bet."

Smart man. It happened once already tonight but I don't tell him that.

The elevator car finally opens and we ride up silently to the seventh floor.

I surreptitiously eye him over. He looks thinner to me but it could be the tailored black clothing. He's so achingly handsome that it almost hurts to think I don't have the right to put my hands on him anymore. If ever I did.

Opening the suite door with his key card, he steps aside to allow me to enter first. The suite is dimly lit and there's soft music playing. Right away I get the sense that he's laid a trap for me. It all happens so fast: I spin around to confront him as he closes the door and without missing a beat, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me.

First, I try to push him away but he's an immovable force. Iron muscle easily resists my feeble protests. After a few oxygen-depleted seconds, I stop resisting and wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him back for all I'm worth. All my plans for how I would play out tonight laid waste by his seductive ambush. The line from Robert Burns' _To a Mouse_ bursts into my mind—_the best laid schemes of mice and men… to often go awry… and leave us naught but grief and pain_.

After what seems an eternity, he retreats slightly and allows me some air. "I could swear you said you wanted to talk."

"There's more than one way to communicate," he says, his voice husky and slightly out of breath. Both of us are. "I prefer this way." He drops a quick kiss on my lips. "Come."

We go to the sofa and he gestures for me to sit. I perch on the very edge of the couch, my way of telling him I don't plan to get comfortable or stay long. Unfortunately for me, however, we seem to be following his script, not mine. He sits beside me, our thighs touching. I can feel his body heat burn right through my clothes. Are all men this hot? I mean, temperature-wise?

"Christian, why am I here? I don't understand."

Dropping his head into his hands, he rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Ana, I think it's quite apparent what's going on."

"Not to me. Why did you follow me to Milan? It's not exactly around the corner and you're a busy man."

"Exactly. I don't have time for this nonsense. I followed you because I learned you came here with Gable."

I lean in closer to him, my face mere inches away. "But why does that concern you? I really don't understand. You told me we were done. You were very sure of yourself."

"Yes, but you promised me you wouldn't work for Irina anymore."

Rolling my eyes, I sit back. This is getting old. "I always told you I wanted to keep Kent. I like him, Christian… and he's a perfect gentleman. I plan to honor the deal otherwise. I thought you made the deal with me because you didn't want to see me get hurt. Am I wrong?"

"No," he admits stonily.

"Then?"

"I'm jealous—I told you I don't share well."

"But there's no sharing," I say, stomping my boot on the carpeted floor. "I'm not with you… and I'm not even with Kent. What's really the problem here?"

"I don't like seeing you with him."

"Do you realize how ridiculous you're being?"

He stands up and begins pacing in front of me. "I don't think I'm being ridiculous. We had a deal, you and I. I held up my end of it and you broke yours. Why is it ridiculous that I insist you honor your word?"

I rise too. "Christian, I'm done here. As soon as I return home, I am going to contact McEvoy and ask him to send me the bill for his services. Then no more favor and I owe you nothing. Good night." I pivot around and walk to the door quickly, anxious to get away now. The absolute freaking nerve of the man—who does he think he is?

Just as I'm about to gain the door, he grabs my upper arm, arresting my progress. I try to wrench it away but he holds fast. "Wait," he says. "Please don't go."

I whip around and through gritted teeth, let him have it, full blast. "Listen carefully. I'm tired and I want to go back to the suite I share with Kent and go to sleep. I'm done with you, tonight and forever. You may be used to people falling prostrate at your feet but I'm not going to be one of them. I know I'm young and naïve but I'm no fool and I didn't fall off the turnip truck yesterday either. You will not dictate to me how I should live my life and who my friends will be. Goodnight, Christian."

I open the door, walk out, and I hear the click as the door closes and the lock engages. Glancing nervously behind me, I see the hall is empty.

He let me go.

I sort of can't believe it. On autopilot now, I make my way to the elevator, feeling shell-shocked, almost the way I felt when he told me goodbye. I came here tonight fully expecting him to ask me to come back to him. I'd planned to play hard to get… maybe impossible to get.

But once again, Mr. Grey pulled the rug out from under me. He never intended to ask me to come back to him. Never. He just planned to force me to stop seeing Kent and leave things status quo. The very idea seems to burn fissures in my heart.

What a total d-bag. I am so done with Christian fucking Grey.

The lobby is quieter now yet there are still a number of people milling about. Hopefully I'll find a cab easily. It's almost one and—

"Ana."

I stop in my tracks. So he did come after me. Now what?

"Please turn around."

I do. He stands there, his face contrite and pain in his eyes—or maybe it's regret. I'm so tired now that even with the spurts of adrenaline he's causing to pump through my bloodstream, I don't know how much longer I can remain on my feet. "What is it?"

"Please come back up and talk to me. I'm sorry I acted like a jerk."

Shaking my head, I avert my eyes from his. "I'm tired, so tired, and I need sleep. I'd be willing to meet with you tomorrow but you said you have to leave. Anyway, I just don't see either of us getting anywhere with each other. Let's just agree to disagree."

"You can sleep in my suite. I won't molest you; I promise."

"Well then, what's the point," I grin, not able to resist.

He smiles, too. "Well, I can molest you if you're amenable. Come, Ana. We'll sleep and then talk tomorrow. Please, baby."

I plant my feet on the sidewalk stubbornly. "I told Kent I'd be home tonight."

"Ana, you can call him and tell him you won't be, and you know it. Come on, please. Don't make me beg."

"I'd rather like to hear you beg, Mr. Grey. It would be a nice change of pace from your imperious commands."

He smiles that smile, that charming, no-holds-barred wonderful man smile. "Please, pretty Ana, please stay with me tonight?"

I swing my hand into his and he grasps it. "Okay, fine. I'll stay."

Surprise flashes across his face and then he grins again, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing it. Before long we're back in his suite and I'm texting Kent to let him know. I have to say, I have no idea how the night or the morning will end but I feel better that he came after me. So much better. I hate the truth that stares me in the face, taunting me, but I have to accept it: I'm in love with the stupid ass and there's not a helluva lot I can do about it.


End file.
